The House of Glass
by LuckyStar815
Summary: When you're seventeen, you believe in Prince Charming. When you're twenty-four, you're tired of waiting for him and try to settle for less. When you're thirty, you know for sure he doesn't exist.
1. Chapter 1

**Believe it or not, this is my new story. There are 20 chapters and an epilogue, and I plan to update weekly.**

**Love and Nutella to my girls Fliki, Carol, Katie, Sandy, and Helen. Your support has been incredible.**

**Ah, almost forgot! Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.**

* * *

THE HOUSE OF GLASS

As a teenager, I used to love to imagine my future life. I had no doubt that by thirty I'd have an interesting job, an apartment in Manhattan, a loving husband, and at least one kid. The job part had come true—I work as an Italian interpreter in one of the world's largest real estate development companies. The apartment part had as well—I had inherited my grandparents' old two-bedroom downtown. The husband and kids part? Not really.

I turned twenty-nine last year. In late November, I mustered up courage and finished a relationship that had been slowly dying for months, sucking the life out of me. At first, I felt nothing but relief, but when I returned to my forlorn apartment, I was consumed by sadness. I mourned for losing the hope of having my own family, and most of all, for true love I had never managed to find. I was going nuts analyzing what I did wrong and asking myself: Was that all there was for me? Why couldn't there be more?

I let myself wallow in self-pity for the whole weekend, and then I was done with that shit. I had tried—I had tried so many times to make a relationship work, but it never worked for me. Something was always off. So maybe I just wasn't cut out for it? Maybe some people just weren't meant to exist as a part of a couple? Maybe the beautiful story about finding one's soulmate that my Italian grandmother had told me was nothing more than a fairy tale?

Anyway, I refused to give in to melancholy. After work on Monday, I went to an animal shelter and adopted a cat—a two-year-old white fur ball with blue eyes, aptly named Mr. Puss. I'd always wanted to have a cat and there had always been some reason why I couldn't afford it. Jared, my boyfriend of the past three years, was allergic. Now that wasn't an issue. Apparently, being single had its benefits; I just had to discover and enjoy them.

So the changes had begun. It suddenly occurred to me there were so many things I missed out on while spending all my spare time with boyfriends, doing what they liked to do and not doing what they didn't. Jared liked to watch basketball on TV, and I'd always been a baseball fan. If we went to movies together, _we_ saw some thriller while _I _would rather see a romantic comedy. We used to hang out with his friends who tended to ignore me and I rarely had time to meet with mine because he didn't get along with them. On the weekends, _we_ visited his parents in New Jersey; not only did I suspect them of secretly despising me for some reason, but I also hated to leave Manhattan when it was buzzing with exciting events. Finally, I preferred healthy food and Jared couldn't live without deep fried everything.

Why didn't I see our differences earlier? Why did I keep trying to stoke the fire that never really burned? For what purpose had I sacrificed my time, my life, letting "I" get sucked into "we"? For the sake of being in a relationship just because the majority of people my age were? Screw that. The IKEA idea of finding happiness in siding with the masses never appealed to me. Screw IKEA and its $ 24.99 bed sheets. I'd rather buy a nice set of Egyptian cotton ones in a designer store and enjoy being happy on my own.

Now there were books to be read, movies to be seen, museums to be visited... I even bought a gym membership. My apartment looked like it had been hit by a hurricane because I finally had time to make much needed renovation. With my best friends' help, I was whitewashing, plastering, papering, painting... We had so much fun in the process; those two weeks at the end of December were the highlight of the last year for me. My grandmother used to say that family is the people you love; I loved my friends and it was more than enough.

Don't get me wrong—I hadn't turned into a prude or man-hater. I loved men. I had wonderful male friends and co-workers, and I could spend hours swooning over hot actors. But let's face it: Leo had Bar Rafaeli, Ryan had Scarlett, Brad had Jen and then Angie. Hot men tended to choose gorgeous women, and I was just plain, average: fair skin, small breasts, brown eyes, dull dark brown hair (which I used to dye every possible color until it almost fell out). I didn't cherish a delusion—my chances to be noticed by someone dreamy were slim. At the same time, I didn't want to settle for less anymore and refused to believe that Jared was the best I could have hoped for. I'd rather live a full, exciting single life and use this opportunity to develop as an independent person who pursues her own goals and interests, and then... who knew?

When I returned home from the New Year's Eve party, I wrote that down on a Post-it note and put it on the fridge as my 2011 Resolution.

So on the morning of January 2nd, I found myself in the midst of a clutter that once had been my bedroom, trying to organize the remnants of my past life into three piles: yes, no, and maybe. To the first—the smallest—pile went things that looked like they belonged to a self-sufficient person who leads a fabulous life. There were my professional certificates I intended to frame and put on the wall; my childhood photo albums; a great deal of _good and thought-provoking _books given to me by my friend Alice Brandon, psychoanalyst; my most beautiful shoes and underwear which made me feel confident.

To the second went my _too_ old bags and holey sweatpants; bottles of perfume I only used once; CDs (who the hell needs CDs these days?); romance books I grew out of; old magazines and dust-covered plush toys given to me by my boyfriends (why would anyone give a plush fucking toy to someone older than 12 was beyond me).

The third pile appeared to be the largest one because it contained almost all my clothes. After some deliberation, I decided to use this chance to go on a shopping spree and reluctantly packed most of it to give away to charity. It somehow made me feel lighter, like I was getting rid of an old, unfortunate me and ready to embrace a new happy life.

Ironically, it was later that day that I first saw him.

It was late afternoon when I finished packing, and I desperately needed a change of scenery. I took Alice's tattered paperback copy of _Jonathan Livingston Seagull* _and headed for the nearest Starbucks. Considering myself an expert on good coffee, I didn't like their stuff; but I enjoyed the smell and the ambience of a coffee house, and I just wanted to get away somewhere, anywhere for a couple of hours.

I took my cup of tea latte and sat at an empty table by the window, watching snowflakes whirling in a slow dance outside. Soon, I was so mesmerized by the view that when the front door opened in the periphery of my vision, it startled me. I blinked and reflexively turned my head toward it.

A tall man entered the coffee house. He was wearing a black, expensive-looking wool coat with its collar raised to keep him from the snow. It was to no avail, though—his medium-length light brown hair was ruffled by the wind and sprinkled with snowflakes. He was beautiful—a classical movies kind of beautiful, his fine features carrying a certain refinement you met so rarely these days, yet he was young, I guessed, thirty-something. My gaze followed his confident, steady gait as he proceeded to the counter.

"A grande cappuccino, please," he said in a silky smooth voice, "name is John."

I smiled involuntarily. _Oh John, please let me be your Elizabeth.**_

From my spot I couldn't see his eyes, but I imagined they must be gray. Cold. Everything about him seemed cold. He looked annoyed as he glanced at his watch and impatiently tapped his fingers on the counter. When his coffee was finally ready, he grabbed the cup and stormed out of the coffee house without a glimpse in my direction.

Slowly but surely, my new life kept gaining momentum. The first work week of the year came with new projects and I got down to them with zeal. I was bursting with energy like never before; I worked after hours and didn't feel tired. On the weekend, Alice and I went shopping. It seemed sensible to invest tremendous amounts in sharp work clothes and shoes, but I had also gotten a few beautiful dresses and a pair of designer jeans. If I wasn't going to spend all my free time watching TV at home anymore, I would need something decent to wear.

Next Saturday, wrapped up in a new dress, I went to visit the Pollock exhibition at the MoMA. It was there I saw him again, the man from the coffee shop. He was in the company of an elegant gray-haired lady who wore a Chanel suit and carried a Hermes bag. I watched them from afar; they were walking leisurely, stopping by every other exhibit. She was holding his elbow intimately, but there was something wrong between them—some incomprehensible estrangement. He looked tense, constantly pulling at the perfect Windsor knot of his tie as though there wasn't enough air in the room. A group of tourists blocked them from my view and then they were gone, taking the unsolved mystery away with them.

The following Friday, I met with Alice and her boyfriend Jasper Whitlock, also a psychoanalyst, at a club. Alice and Jasper dated for what seemed forever, and from what I knew they weren't going to move in together. Alice had always said that two shrinks living under one roof would be disastrous. Anyway, they both seemed content with what they had, and over a couple of martinis I began to wonder if boundaries were the key to happiness.

I wasn't even surprised when I cast a glance at the bar counter and saw him sitting there. It seemed we were like two satellites moving on different orbits which inevitably and regularly crossed. He had on a black tailored suit, no tie, and I wondered what his occupation was—a stockbroker? A sales manager? A lawyer? This time, his company was a young, model-looking blond woman. She was talking animatedly and he smiled at her, sipping his drink, but his smile seemed forced, condescending. He looked bored and for some reason, I suddenly thought he must be very lonely.

"What you're looking at?" Alice followed my gaze. "Oh, _that_ figure."

"Huh?" I raised my brow. "Do you know him?"

"Yeah, it's Edward Masen. We've met at my aunt's—he works with their firm; they made him a partner recently. An architect, ingenious and arrogant. Don't even bother; he's not your type."

I wanted to ask her to elaborate what she meant by _my type_, but then decided the point was moot. I wasn't _his type—_ that was pretty obvious.

Meanwhile, single life was growing on me. I had almost forgotten how fantastic it felt having nobody to answer to. I could cook when I was in the mood and have a snack the next day. I could shop for any unnecessary stuff without explaining to anyone its practical meaning. I could watch _The Vampire Diaries _without being frowned on. I could hang out late with my friends because no one would be waiting for me at home, and the headache in the morning after would be from too much buzz, not from someone drilling a hole in my head for acting irresponsible.

That was exactly what happened on Valentine's Day—my neighbor and buddy Jacob Black and I decided to celebrate. He was recently dumped by his boyfriend, and I was giving him a hard time about being codependent. Our party in my kitchen dragged on long after midnight; in the morning, my only concern was to keep my eyes open and not die from dehydration. And as ill luck would have it, when I was making my seventh trip to the office water cooler I stumbled across Mr. Banner, my boss.

"Bella! I've been looking for you," he said excitedly, readjusting his glasses. "Has Jessica emailed you the business trip details yet?"

"Business trip?" I stuttered. "What business trip?"

"Oh. Do you remember The Renaissance Hotels project?"

I nodded. I translated this project documentation last month. We bid on the multi-million dollar contract to renovate an old rundown house in Venice, Italy into a five-star hotel.

"We're on the verge of blowing it. The client has declined our proposal so we've had to create a new one, _pronto_. Fortunately, we managed to find an architectural firm that agreed to do it on a tight schedule. So tomorrow you are going to accompany the architect to Milan and interpret his presentation to Marco and Mr. Rossi."

I gulped, trying to keep a sudden wave of nausea down. "Tomorrow?"

"Come along with me; I'll introduce you now."

I steeled myself, following him down the hall to his office. The universe hated me today. I wished I had washed my hair that morning.

"He can be a bit difficult," Mr. Banner warned me quietly, his hand pausing on the door handle. "But he's a professional, and so are you; I believe you two will find a common language, pun intended."

He was standing by the window with his back to us. When he turned, I finally saw the color of his eyes. They were green-gray. He was wearing a black suit with a dark gray tie over a snow-white button-down and his hair was neatly slicked back.

He looked impeccable and I looked like shit.

"So," Mr. Banner said, "Isabella, this is Edward Masen of Cullen Architecture. Edward, this is Isabella Swan, our in-house Italian specialist."

He slightly cocked his eyebrow, assessing me. "Miss Swan."

"It's Ms. Swan," I mumbled.

"Ms. Swan." He nodded, reaching out for a handshake.

His hand was cold.

* * *

**_*Jonathan Livingston Seagull_ is a book about self-perfection written by Richard Bach.**

****John and Elizabeth are the main characters of the 1986 movie _Nine and ½ Weeks_, portrayed by Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger. **

**Need I say more? ****Put on your seat belts!**


	2. Chapter 2

"_Dude, lots of chicks think architects are hot. Think about it. You create something out of nothing. You're like God. There is nobody hotter than God." _

_—Barney in "How I Met Your Mother"._

When I started working, I used to love going on business trips, but over the years novelty and excitement had worn off. I didn't get to actually see the places I went to and being on a tight schedule was exhausting, not to mention inevitable jet lag.

Thankfully, I felt significantly better after a good night's sleep. Having survived a busy day at work, I went straight to JFK to catch an 8 PM flight to Milan. I was almost late because of the traffic; when I came running up to the gate, clutching my purse, my carry-on, and my coat, sweating and cursing my new high-heel leather boots, most passengers had already boarded. On my way through the business class cabin, I saw him sitting by the window in the second row with his laptop open, looking smart as ever. I deliberated whether I should stop and say hi, but then decided against it.

I proceeded to my aisle seat in the coach and made myself comfortable, taking off my goddamn boots and untying my hair. I desperately needed to try and get some sleep—we would arrive in Milan at seven in the morning, local time, and there would be another long and tiring day ahead. On the upside, we would stay at one of the Renaissance chain hotels belonging to our client, Mr. Rossi—a five-star hotel with a swimming pool—and I was intent on indulging myself with its luxuries in the evening. I had even packed my swimsuit.

I woke up surprisingly refreshed. Upon landing, I scanned the Malpensa airport terminal for my companion. He was nowhere to be seen and I almost began to worry, but as I went through the passport control, I noticed his lonely figure in the baggage claim area, looking lost and slightly disheveled.

"Good morning, Mr. Masen," I greeted him.

"Good morning, Ms. Swan." His eyes were tired and I wondered if he had slept at all.

I motioned for him to the sliding doors. "Let's see if we can find a taxi."

We didn't talk in the car. He closed his eyes and I was staring out the window, enjoying the scenery. I'd been here before, but you can never get enough of lush Italian landscapes.

Marco had been waiting for us in the hotel lobby. "Mia Bella!" He threw his arms around me, kissing my both cheeks. Marco was the head of our Italian office; young, ambitious, and gay. I loved him dearly. He asked me in English how my family was doing, then the men exchanged polite greetings and shook hands.

When we had checked into our rooms, there was still more than an hour left before the meeting. After unpacking my carry-on, I decided not to wait until the evening and to go to the swimming pool straight away. The brochure in my room stated there were a hydro massage tub and a sauna, which sounded very promising.

The hotel spa locker room was empty. I changed into my one-piece swimsuit and grabbed the towel, anticipating having the pool all for myself. But on approaching its entrance, I heard splashes and paused. Someone was crossing the pool so fast as if training for the Olympics. When he turned to complete the lap, my breathing altered; I jerked back out of his sight, pressing against the wall behind the door.

I had no idea what business etiquette rule would apply to this situation, but of one thing I was fairly certain: Edward Masen wasn't going to see me in a swimsuit. _Nope._ And he definitely wasn't going to see me without one, so the sauna was also out of the question this morning.

He continued working out, making even but powerful strokes, obviously enjoying himself. I felt like a creepy voyeur because I couldn't tear my eyes away from his form gliding through the water. After a few more laps, he slowed down, swimming leisurely up to the ladder. As he emerged from the water, I almost gasped. It was that moment when you imagine how someone would look without their clothes on and they appear to exceed your expectations. He had such strong, lean physique; I wanted to run my hands over the taut muscles of his sculpted back—God's gift brought to perfection by exercise.

Instead, I hastily retreated to the locker room and decided to go have breakfast.

Half an hour later when I entered the hotel conference room, sporting a sharp look in my freshly ironed clothes, he was already there. He looked less tired than he had at the airport and even managed a small smile, noticing my arrival. I helped him connect his laptop to a projector and he flipped through his files.

Marco and the client, Mr. Rossi, followed by his two assistants, arrived shortly. Mr. Aro Rossi was a man in his sixties, his expression the one of calm confidence, characteristic for someone who knew what he wanted and had enough money to pay for it. We all took our seats at the long oval meeting table and the presentation commenced.

He started his speech with the building code requirements, showing the calculations to point out that adding more floors would be impossible because of the quality of ground in Venice. As an alternative solution, in his design project he suggested turning the courtyard into an atrium surrounded by glass walls that would not only help increase the useful space but also add the building a modern look without losing the natural light. He was talking with great ease, keeping a relaxed body language and maintaining eye contact. When he was done, Mr. Rossi cleared his throat.

I knew from experience that Q&A part would be the longest and the hardest. But he seemed perfectly comfortable with the inquisition, making his points clear. There was a good reason why he was one of the best—he really knew his job. Soon I realized why Mr. Banner had said he could be difficult—compromise wasn't the word from Edward Masen's book. Every little detail mattered and he refused to give it up, explaining its practical and aesthetic meaning. He was talking so passionately that I found myself digressing from my job ethics code—I was supposed to be emotionless, but I couldn't help it; his ardor was contagious.

The meeting continued after lunch and by the time it was finally over, I was completely exhausted. I went to my room, kicked off my shoes and clothes, and fell onto a Queen-size bed with a groan. My head was pounding but I hadn't had any strength to move into an upright position and reach for the Tylenol in my bag—jet lag had finally gotten in to me.

I must have been out cold because a soft but persistent knocking on the door startled me.

"Coming," I muttered, scrambling down from the bed and slipping on the bathrobe. "Yes?" I yanked the door open and froze. I should have guessed whom I might find casually standing there with his hands in his pants pockets.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said quietly, taking me in.

"It's okay." My hands gripped the ends of my bathrobe belt. "Do you need any help?"

"Err… I haven't been to Milan before. I'd like to take a walk and have dinner somewhere, but I don't know Italian and I'm afraid of getting lost." He gave me an engaging smile, a charmer. "I know it's not a part of your job description, but would you please do me a favor and be my guide tonight? Dinner's on me, of course. If you don't have other plans."

"I... not really..." I felt better now, but only slightly. "But my head is so heavy, and I just..."

"You need some fresh air." His voice was low, his eyes searching mine. "Please."

"Okay." For some reason, I couldn't resist him. "Give me ten minutes."

"I'll be waiting in the lobby."

I closed the door and rubbed my eyes. This was going to be interesting.

I took my time, unhurriedly re-applying my makeup and dressing. My high-heel boots would kill me, but I had no other choice.

When I stepped out of the elevator, I found him sitting on a banquette in the corner, leafing through some magazine. "Mr. Masen."

He looked up and quickly rose. "Please call me Edward. I believe it would be more comfortable if we were on a first name basis, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't. You can call me Isabella. Or Bella—that's what my friends call me, so whichever you prefer," I said.

He gave a slight nod and we went outside. It was really cold; he raised the collar of his coat and put on his leather gloves, and I shivered, wishing I had brought mine.

"I know a good seafood restaurant. We could walk there and then take another route back," I suggested.

"Sounds like a plan."

"This way, then."

The center of Milan is pretty small and I had been there so many times that it was really easy for me to get around. I assumed he would be mostly interested in local architecture, so we started from Piazza del Duomo, went past the famous La Scala theatre, and then continued to the fashion district with its narrow alleys. We didn't talk much, or, rather, _I_ talked, and even though I suspected he must have known this stuff better than I had, he never once interrupted or corrected me.

The restaurant I had taken him to was classy but not overly expensive. I translated every item of the menu for him and after we had made our choices, voiced our order to a waiter.

"Your Italian is pretty impressive," he said as we were served our drinks and left on our own. "How did you learn it so well?"

"My mother is Italian, actually." I took a sip of white wine—it was chilly but filled me with warmth nonetheless. "My grandparents were immigrants from Sicily. I still have several relatives there."

"So you're related to the Mafia?" He grinned, sipping his own wine.

"Oh no, I'm afraid I'm not that interesting. They are just plain farmers and storekeepers. But my parents had practically a Shakespeare love story. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure."

"My grandparents always wanted my mom to marry someone Italian. But when she was eighteen, she had met my father and they fell in love. He was an American, four years older than her, a protestant, a cop, and he lived in Jersey. Absolutely unacceptable." I snorted. "So they tried to forbid her to see him and found another guy."

I paused because the waiter had appeared with our _antipasti—_a calamari stew for him and oysters on a bed of crushed ice for me. I took one, squeezed some lemon on it, and brought the shell to my lips. He was watching me with sudden curiosity. When I sucked the oyster and its salty liquid into my mouth, his eyes widened and the corner of his lips slightly twitched.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. Please continue." He took a forkful of his calamari and began to chew it slowly.

"Okay. My mom and my dad ran away and secretly got married. My grandparents were so mad they said they didn't want to see her again." I popped another oyster into my mouth; he frowned, lowering his gaze. "They went to live in my dad's house in Jersey. I was born a year later. And a year and a half after that, they got divorced and Mom took me and returned to the city. My grandparents welcomed us back and we lived together until Mom met her second husband. The funniest thing, he's Italian, so she moved to Rome, and I stayed with my grandparents. I'm a child of Little Italy—that's how I've learned it. End of story."

When I finished, he was drawing patterns on his napkin with his finger, looking either thoughtful or bored, and I cursed myself for being so chatty. Why did I always assume other people would be interested in hearing about my life? What made me think Edward Masen would be?

The waiter brought our main courses and we proceeded to eat in silence. My risotto with cuttlefish was splendid, and I decided it was a good thing I agreed to go out for dinner, after all.

"So, Edward," I said when the pause had lingered too long to be comfortable. "Would you mind telling me something about yourself?"

He lifted his eyes from his plate of linguine with clam sauce. "What would you like to know?"

I shrugged. "Um... how about your work?" It was a safe and politically correct topic.

"Okay." He finished his wine and waved to our waiter to come over. "I work in a small firm called Cullen Architecture... _Grazie_," he thanked the man for refilling our glasses. "There are only three people besides me. Carlisle Cullen is the principal; he manages all our projects. He specializes in renovations because he has a fondness for older buildings. Actually, he was very excited about this particular project with your company, but his father became ill, so he left shortly and asked me to take over."

"Do you believe in coincidence?" I asked.

"No." He smiled enigmatically. "There's no such thing as coincidence, Isabella. I believe everything serves its purpose. This project has been a very interesting experience to me so far." His thumb was slowly running up and down the stem of his glass. "So that was about Carlisle. Then, there is Esme Cullen, his wife. She's an interior designer. And finally, there is Emmett McCarty. He deals with all aspects of construction work. He's that guy in a hard hat barking orders on a construction site."

I remembered what Alice had told me about him working for her relatives but I didn't know them personally, so I decided not to bring up this connection. "What about you?"

"Basically, I develop design concepts of new buildings. I focus on commercial property. And I've become a full-fledged partner recently, so there are talks and some paperwork." He clearly enjoyed talking about his job.

"Volete un pò di dolce?" our waiter asked.

"Would you like some dessert?" I translated for Edward.

"Yes. A vanilla panna cotta if they have it and a cappuccino."

"Let me tell you something." I put my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my entwined fingers. "People here normally don't have cappuccino in the afternoon. It's a breakfast drink."

He snickered, leaning back in his chair. "Okay. An espresso, then."

"_La panna cotta alli vaniglia e due espressi, per favore_," I told the waiter.

The wine had made me quite audacious, so I went on. "There is something else I want to tell you. I've seen you before."

He raised his eyebrow. "Have we met? I don't remember that."

"Not really. I said I've seen you. In Starbucks once. I have a good memory for faces. And now I'm really curious about one thing... Why did you say your name was John?"

"You have an excellent memory, Ms. Swan," he said dryly.

"Side effect of my profession, Mr. Masen." I felt I was playing with fire but couldn't help it. "Will you answer me?"

"Yes." He forced a smile, resting his elbows on the table, mirroring my posture. "I just don't like giving my name to random people. And John is quite common, easy to catch; besides, it's a placeholder name. John Smith could be anybody—just an average person. It's a game; we all wear masks sometimes."

"I don't think I do," I said honestly.

"Well, good for you then, Isabella. I don't think the name Jane would suit you. You're anything but average."

"Why, thank you," I muttered, hiding my eyes from his gaze that suddenly became piercing.

We didn't talk over coffee; he paid the check with his gray Amex card and helped me put on my coat.

"Thank you for dinner," I said as we emerged into the dark street and began walking back to the hotel.

"Thank _you_ for being so kind. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably would have just slept through all my free time in this charming city."

"If you're afraid to get lost, how do you go on vacation?" I blurted without thinking. He surely had someone to be his guide, hadn't he? Someone who looked like she had stepped out of Victoria's Secret catalogue.

"Actually, I don't."

"You don't go on vacation?" I asked incredulously.

"I love my work and I don't need to get away from it, that's all. But last Christmas, I went with the Cullens to a cabin in Denali, Alaska. It's very beautiful there." It seemed to me there was a trace of sadness in his voice. I tried to imagine being stuck in the middle of nowhere for a weekend, let alone a whole week... I'd probably want to scream.

"I love to travel," I confessed. "I've been to many places, but my biggest dream is to visit Rio. I like bright colors and Rio seems like a party that never ends."

"You're so different from what I imagined when your boss told me about you," he suddenly said.

"Am I? What did you imagine—a blonde with D-cup breasts? Nope, that's not me. Sorry for the disappointment." I instantly regretted drinking so much wine—it appeared to have washed away all my professional ethics.

He started laughing. "No, I didn't imagine that. Quite the opposite—someone mousy and boring."

I didn't know what to reply to that, so I said nothing. We took a shorter way back and soon reached our hotel. The silence between us became too loud in the elevator; thankfully it wasn't a long ride. Our rooms were on the same floor; I stepped out first and he followed behind me.

"It's been a long day," I said, fumbling about in my bag for the key card to my room. I swiped it and pushed the handle, turning to wish him a good night. When our eyes met, I flinched. Cool and composed he was no more; I saw a man on fire.

"Isabella... _Bella_," he whispered in a low strained voice, slowly, uncertainly raising his hand. His cold fingers lightly touched my cheek, making my skin burn. "Tell me to go to my room."

If I were nineteen, I would probably grab his fucking tie, drag him inside, and push him on the bed that was too big for one.

But I was twenty-nine and I knew better than to complicate matters. We were involved in the same work project and I wasn't going to do anything I'd regret later. _Don't shit where you eat. _

"Go to your room, Edward," I said, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible.

His hand that wasn't touching my face rested on the wall with a slap. He was standing so close I could catch his scent. He smelled of the ocean. So good.

"Please." I moved backwards inside the room, gripping onto the door handle for dear life. "Good night."

"Night." He finally broke his gaze, stepping aside. I pushed the door closed and leaned against it, releasing the breath I was holding.

In the morning, I didn't see him at breakfast. We met later at the hotel check-in counter and he only gave me a slight nod before switching his attention back to the copy of the _Financial Times _he was reading. We didn't say a word to each other in the taxi and I was glad I wasn't flying business class. It was Friday and I was looking forward to the weekend.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts :) **

**Katie1824, ILY. You know that, right?**

**I'm on Twitter: LuckyStar815. I rant about hating my work and post pictures of manicured nails. **


	3. Chapter 3

We won the contract. Mr. Rossi was so impressed by Edward's presentation that by the time our plane touched down in New York, the deal had already been done. I translated a lot of project documentation the following week; I saw Edward in our office a few times, but we didn't actually meet. At the beginning of March, the preparation stage was over and the construction phase ready to launch.

It was supposed to be an ordinary Friday. In the morning, Mr. Banner asked me to bring him some documents. Opening the door of his office, I came face to face with Edward. When our eyes met, he winked. I froze, gaping at him, and he pressed his lips together, hiding a smile. I quickly recovered from the shock, switching my attention to my boss, and hastily left the room. Thank God, I looked decent that morning.

If I only knew what the rest of the day would bring me.

It happened after lunch. I was so engrossed in my work that the phone ringing on my desk almost made me jump.

"God, Bella!" Jessica, the receptionist, sounded overly excited. "There's a delivery guy here. He brought flowers for you."

I nearly fell from my chair. I'd never, ever gotten flowers at work. None of my boyfriends had ever made such a grand gesture, and I didn't even have one these days. I was utterly confused.

My pulse quickened as I came up to the reception desk and saw the flowers. They were tulips in a variety of colors—reds, purples, pinks, oranges, yellows—and it looked like a rainbow. There was a note attached and curiosity was making me antsy, but I waited to open it until I returned to my cubicle.

_Dearest Ms. Swan,_

_As you are sure to know, our joint project has been successfully launched. It would be impossible without your outstanding contribution. I would like to express my deepest gratitude personally tonight at the Oyster Bar. The table is booked for six thirty. _

_Sincerely yours,_

_John._

I looked at the flowers_, _then at the note and back in disbelief. Edward Masen asked me out for dinner. Edward Masen sent me flowers. Edward Masen winked at me earlier.

I took a deep breath to calm myself—it was a bit overwhelming. Why would he do all that? And more importantly, should I go? I looked at the note again. He was very polite and except that one time at the hotel he had always been strictly professional. It wouldn't be inappropriate for two people involved in one work project to have dinner together to celebrate its success, would it? The restaurant being a public place, it would be nothing if not innocent. To tell the truth, I wanted to go. His attention was really flattering to me, helping me reconnect with my inner goddess—wasn't that my primary goal? And then, aside from a very little I knew about him, Edward Masen remained a mystery and I was dying to satisfy my curiosity.

The more I thought of it, the stronger my arguments for accepting his invitation were becoming. Even my clothes today appeared suitable for such an occasion—a cream silk blouse and dark beige pencil skirt—dressy but still business-like. My image was completed with black leather pumps and my grandmother's string of pearls. Pearls at the Oyster Bar. I wondered if I had some sort of a hunch when I had put it on in the morning. I inwardly thanked Alice for being my style guide. _Shit... Alice! _We were going to hang out tonight; I would have to lie that I'm stuck at work with massive headache to scrub our plans.

A conference call had delayed me at the office; my cab moved at a snail's pace in the Friday night traffic, so I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late.

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone here at six thirty," I told maître d'. "Can you check the name Masen, please?"

He looked at his list and frowned. "Ma'am, I'm afraid..."

"Oh." I smiled. "Of course, excuse me. The name must be Smith. John Smith."

"Mr. Smith is waiting for you. This way, please."

He was sitting at the bar, checking his phone. With his tie gone and top buttons of his white shirt undone, he looked very relaxed.

"Good evening," I said, my voice suddenly high. "I'm sorry I'm late."

He turned to me with a disarming smile. "I expected you to be late, so I waited for you here to save myself the humiliation of being alone at a table for two."

I shrugged. "Traffic."

He chuckled, standing up. "I think you just enjoy teasing me. Let's proceed to our table, shall we?"

While we were making our way to the table, I began regretting my decision to come. I didn't like his tone. Teasing him, huh? Clearly he had too high opinion of himself.

"Champagne?" he asked, opening the wine list.

"Yes, please."

"Do you trust my choice?"

I nodded.

"Good. You'll like this one. It's sweet and delicate." He couldn't stop smiling.

"You look very pleased today," I said.

"Because I am. First, I'm happy about our project. I feel accomplished. It's the best feeling in the world."

"Well, it's not over," I reminded him.

"True, but now that my design has been approved, the only thing left to do is control to ensure it's being constructed properly. So it's time for Emmett to take over. He's flying to Italy on Monday. I will only review the progress and make changes should it be necessary."

A bottle of champagne in a silver bucket arrived in no time and the waiter filled our flutes.

"So." He held up his glass. "Like I mentioned in my note, I really appreciate your contribution, Isabella. You helped me deliver my ideas convincingly and successfully."

"It's my job," I said.

"And I was very lucky to have you. To luck."

We clinked glasses. He was right—the champagne appeared to be really sweet and delicate.

"Thank you for the flowers, by the way." I put my glass down.

"Did you like them?"

"Very much."

"I'm glad. I remember you said you like bright colors. I pay attention to the details." He smirked. "And I'm glad you accepted my invitation."

"I'm curious. It's Friday night. You couldn't just have a table here without making reservation in advance. Has your date cancelled on you?" Now that was me teasing him.

His eyes blazed with something I failed to decipher. "I booked this table two weeks ago, as soon as I found out the project launch date," he said coolly. "I really enjoyed watching you eat oysters and I wanted to repeat that sensual experience." He opened the menu and began studying it in unruffled composure.

I gaped at him breathlessly. My heart suddenly started thrashing against my ribcage; I could feel adrenaline spiking through my veins. How had I missed the moment when he started playing this game? Though if he thought he was leading, he was wrong.

"What do you want, Edward?" My voice didn't alter this time.

He raised his eyes from the menu. "Why don't we place our order?"

I shook my head, staring at him intently.

He sighed, leaning against the back of his chair, his lips still curled up in a half-smile. "In my line of work, one of the basic, most important things you have to keep in mind is the laws of human perception." His eyes never left mine as he spoke. "It's quite an intriguing thing, how our brain works. It always seeks completeness, finality. It seems to be human nature to finish what we start. And if some objective was once pursued and left incomplete, a person feels frustrated and distressed. I feel frustrated and distressed since our first encounter, Isabella. I need my closure with you."

"Are you always pulling Dr. Freud on the women you try to get into your bed?" I asked bluntly.

He laughed. "Usually I don't need to try that hard. But I welcome challenges. They make an experience even more rewarding. And just for the record, usually I don't have sex with clients, either. Actually, I never had."

"At least we have something in common," I muttered.

"Undoubtedly so. And you may be surprised, but I know what moral code and business ethics are. I'm a man of principles. You made me lose control, Isabella. It has never happened to me before. I'm confused as much as excited—you're dangerous to me, but I can't help wanting you."

My insides turned into mush from his words and the intensity of his gaze. "Hasn't it occurred to you that I might have a boyfriend?" I asked, taking a gulp of my champagne.

"It's Friday night and you're here with me. It's a simple logic. Are you going to deny it?" He was smiling again.

I slightly shook my head. "That was very sagacious of you. But anyway, what makes you think I might be interested in your proposal?"

"Because you want me, too." His voice was barely a whisper.

"Aren't you taking a lot for granted?" I breathed out.

"Am I?" He reached over the table and his fingers traced the back of my hand. It was the lightest caress, but it filled every part of me with longing so strong that when he withdrew his hand, the loss of contact instantly felt like a void somewhere deep inside. Instinctively, my hand jerked to follow his; I expected him to smirk, but he remained serious.

"We are like magnets," he said quietly. "Can't you feel it?"

I thought I might faint. The air was stuffy and hot. "I'm going to the ladies' room," I said, getting up. My knees felt weak.

"Let's order first." He frowned. I wondered if he decided I was making my escape.

"I trust your choice. You seem to have an excellent taste." I turned on my heel and heard him chuckle behind my back.

I put my hands under the cold water in the restroom and touched the back of my neck. My skin was burning. I gripped onto the counter, trying to steady my breathing and collect my thoughts.

I was facing a dilemma.

On the one hand, saying "Fuck you" to Edward Masen's smug face would be, using his own words, a very rewarding experience. But on the other hand, I wasn't going to lie to myself—I hadn't had sex since breaking up with Jared and my body had its cravings that couldn't be fully satisfied on my own. I wanted Edward and for some unfathomable reason he wanted me too. This beautiful, gorgeous man wanted _me_.

I searched my racing mind for any solid reason to say no, but it seemed the rational part of my thinking had completely switched off. I swallowed, remembering the sight of his body at the swimming pool—and now I could have him, even if it was only for the night. I'd never had a one-night stand before, but we would hardly ever see each other afterward, so there shouldn't be any embarrassment. I was single and he was single, so we wouldn't commit adultery, either. Just one night; nobody would know. So why not?

I mentally made an assessment: my lingerie was coordinated; I had shaved my legs this morning and waxed my lady bits a few days ago; finally, I had thigh highs on instead of tights. I was ready for action. Or was I?

"You okay?" he asked with concern as I returned to our table.

"Uh-huh." I faced a platter of oysters sitting on the table between us. I wasn't hungry anymore, but if he wanted a show, he would have it.

My eyes were locked with his as I slurped down the oyster, chewed it slowly, savoring the metallic taste of the ocean, swallowed, and licked my lips. His Adam's apple bobbed and he took a deep breath. I noticed his fingers clench around the tiny fork, but he smiled, mirroring my action. When his tongue swept across his top lip, I knew I had lost the game. He could have me and do with me whatever he wanted. I needed him to.

I ate the main course without tasting it, concentrating hard on keeping my hands from trembling. My heart was fluttering in my chest and champagne wasn't helping with my self-control.

"You're so quiet," he said, tracing his chin with a knuckle of his thumb. "What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think I'm thinking about?" I retorted.

He pursed his lips. "Hmm... you're thinking about what it would feel like when I touch you. Am I right?"

"Always so presumptuous." I managed a laugh. "What are _you_ thinking about?"

"A dessert."

"Huh?" I raised my brow.

"I have a sweet tooth. I'd like to have some dessert. Would you?"

I shook my head. "No, thanks."

He ordered a cheesecake, and when it arrived, drew a small piece with his fork and brought it to my lips. "Please."

In some other circumstance, I would really enjoy the treat because I had a sweet tooth, too. But now it was impossible. I wanted this dinner to be over, yet I was afraid of what would happen when it was.

He wasn't in a hurry as he finished his dessert and his champagne. By the time he had finally asked for a check, I was close to having an emotional breakdown. My fingers were unsteady as I fastened my coat in the checkroom—his silence was sending me over the edge.

"Are you going to ask me where I'm going?" I snapped when he caught a taxi and motioned to me to get inside.

"No," he said curtly. "I already have an answer. Sometimes words are unnecessary."

I paused for a second, realizing this was my last chance to back out. My eyes flickered to his, radiating confidence and tranquility. "No kinky stuff."

He nodded. "No kinky stuff."

I got into a back seat, he followed after me, and the car started into the night.

He was silent again, staring out the window, casually resting his hands on his thighs, as if I wasn't there at all.

"Are you going to kiss me?" I whispered when the car came to a halt at the red light.

He turned to me, suppressing a smile. "Maybe later."

"Why?"

"I'm not into public displays of affection," he murmured. "And besides, your anticipation is highly enjoyable to me."

I looked away; his arrogance was driving me mad at this point.

It wasn't surprising that he lived in the Upper East Side. He helped me out the car, his hand in a leather glove letting go of mine as soon as my feet touched the ground, and we entered the tall apartment building.

"Good evening, Peter," he greeted the doorman.

"Good evening, Mr. Masen."

With each step we took toward the elevators, my heart was beating faster and faster. It skipped a beat when the elevator doors slid open.

"So a mouse is caught into a cat's trap," I mumbled when he pressed a sixteenth floor button and the elevator started to move.

"Oh no, you're not a mouse. You possess a lion's heart, and you like playing with fire." He rested his hand on the wall just beside my head, staring into my eyes. "So imprudent for a cop's daughter. What if I'm a serial killer?"

"The doorman has seen me."

He laughed. "I like you, Isabella Swan. Very much."

The elevator chimed and we proceeded into the corridor. He unlocked his apartment door, letting me in first. "Welcome to my den," he said, switching on the lights in the hallway. "Would you like something to drink?"

"White wine would be nice."

He took my coat and put it on the rack and then led me down the hall to a spacious kitchen, modern and quite chic—stainless steel appliances, a dining area with a big oval glass table. It all looked like it had never been used.

"Vermentino?"

I gave a slight nod. It was the wine of my choice when we had dinner in Milan.

"I told you I pay attention to the details." He smirked. I wondered if he had calculated that move as well.

He uncorked the bottle and filled two glasses halfway, handing one to me. "I'll be right back."

I gulped the wine down like water; it was chilly, but it didn't help the tingling I felt inside. I was considering helping myself to some more when he returned. He was barefoot and he had taken off his suit jacket, looking even more handsome and slightly younger in a plain white button-down. His gaze traveled to my glass and he frowned.

"I don't want you drunk," he said softly, taking the glass from my hand. It clinked, touching down the table surface. The sound suddenly made me alert to his proximity; my eyes snapped up to his.

"Let me show you to my bedroom." His voice was low and smooth. I reached for his hand, but he drew back. Silently, I followed him to the open door at the end of the hall and paused at the threshold.

His bedroom was softly lit by the reading lamps on both nightstands, casting shadows on the white walls. The black headboard of the bed was making harsh contrast to the wall, diminished by the gray of satin sheets. He came up to the large window and opened the Venetian blinds; the view to the city skyline was magnificent even if we were only on the sixteenth floor. He stood motionless with his back to me, peering into the distance.

I kicked off my shoes and stepped onto the white fitted carpet, its pile caressing my tired feet as I crossed the room and stopped beside him. "Stunning," I whispered.

He was standing so close that anticipation was becoming unbearable. Finally, he leaned over to me; I shivered as his hot breath tickled my skin. He chuckled and purposely blew on my neck. I wanted to say something but words failed me; his clean salty scent, his heat, the sound of his uneven breathing had clouded my ability to think straight.

Goose bumps covered my skin when his finger found the base of my neck and ran down my spine. He moved slowly to stand behind me; a shiver rippled through me again as he dragged his nails down my arms. He paused and then carefully freed my hair from the clip, making it fall cascading on my shoulders. "I wanted to do it from the moment I first saw you," he whispered into my ear.

I heard rather than felt the zipper of my skirt surrender to his touch. He pulled it down—slowly, inch by inch, his fingers drawing warm lines through the fabric. When it fell to the floor, I turned abruptly to face him. I was standing in front of the man I barely knew in a white lacy thong and thigh highs and the urge to cover myself was overwhelming. I didn't.

"Don't be afraid," he said softly.

"I'm not afraid." My breath was coming in short shaky pants.

A corner of his lips twitched and he started undoing my blouse, dealing with tiny buttons with ease. "Come here." He rested his hands on my shoulders, turning me to the huge, almost floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner. "Look at you. Look how beautiful you are."

My reflection was startling—dark, shining in excitement eyes, flushing skin. Our eyes met in the mirror and he pulled my blouse open. His fingers gently brushed against my collarbone, tracing my necklace, then following the lacy trim of my bra up and down, as if contemplating his next move. There was something incredibly erotic about watching him touch me like that; a hot current of desire was swirling inside my stomach, my pulse was throbbing, and I forgot how to breathe. And it was not enough. I wanted—needed more. Much more.

He knew it, of course. His other hand rested on my stomach and he drew a circle around my navel with his thumb, pausing to gauge my reaction. I sucked in a breath, waiting, unable to tear my eyes from his in the mirror, biting back the word _please_ that was ready to escape my lips. After what seemed like forever, his hand slid lower. And lower. His lips parted with a soft gasp, echoing my own.

It was the last straw for both my patience and reason. My hands stilled his and I turned, searching his eyes, letting their burning heat consume me. Of their own volition, my arms wrapped around his neck and my trembling lips found his, begging for response.

He replied eagerly, as though he was waiting for me to make my own move. It felt like I'd never been kissed before; all I knew was this—his lips and tongue, gentle and rough, caressing and demanding, his hands all over me, tracing fire and easing the fever... His skin was so smooth as I ran my fingers over the planes of his chest, his arms, his back—when had he taken his shirt off? I was reeling, lost in a sensual haze, when I suddenly found myself lying on my back, his unearthly beautiful face above me.

He was an intense yet caring lover, relentlessly eliciting the sensations from my body. With each thrust, it felt like I couldn't take any more, and yet I could. Space and time no longer existed. The inevitable explosion was coming, but I didn't want this to end, ever.

When he pulled away, my body felt liquefied and I couldn't feel my toes. Leaning on his elbow, he removed a lock of hair that stuck to my forehead. "How are you?"

"Good. It was so good," I breathed out. That was the understatement of a century. Who I was kidding—I'd just had the best sex of my life, but to admit that was to make him even more smug than he already had been.

"Yeah, it was good for me, too." He reached over to the nightstand and a familiar glass of wine appeared at my lips. I smiled, taking a long drink. He definitely paid attention to the details.

Finishing the remaining wine in one gulp, he placed a sound but quick kiss on my lips. "I need to take out my contacts."

I feasted my eyes on every line, every curve of his perfectly built form as he retreated into the bathroom. I couldn't help but grin; God had created this masterpiece of man to tease all the women and I'd just had sex with him.

In the blissful silence, I heard the distinct sound of a garbage bin closing, then water running in a sink, then it became quiet, and finally, he started a shower. And then it suddenly clicked. I knew nothing on one-night stands; what if _I need to __take out __my contacts_ was some sort of a code phrase which meant _I'll leave you on your own so that you can pick up the remains of your dignity and quietly make your escape_? The satin sheets suddenly felt cold against my skin.

What did I expect, really? That he would cuddle next to me? No, definitely not that.

I got up, my legs still unsteady, picked up my clothes from the floor and hastily dressed. The water stopped running so I put on my shoes and headed to the hallway, but l didn't make it there. The bathroom door opened and he stepped out, blocking my way. He was naked except for the towel wrapped around his hips, and he didn't bother to dry himself, so water was dripping from his hair and upper body. His eyes were piercing as they locked with mine. Instinctively, I stepped back, almost hitting the wall. He followed closely, furrowing his brow at me.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked very quietly.

"N-no."

"Then why are you running away?"

I felt like breath was knocked out of me. "I think I should go."

"It's late." He stepped closer and I swallowed. His scent, stronger now that it was mixed with soap, was making me dizzy. "I don't want you to leave into the New York City night. Who knows what dangers are awaiting for you there?" He knew, the bastard, that he was the biggest possible danger for me.

"I don't have a toothbrush," I made a weak attempt to resist but I knew already he was winning the game again.

"I happen to have a spare one." He took one more step, resting his hands on the wall either side of my head, effectively trapping me between the wall and his body. My knees started shaking. One last step and he was pressed against me, burying his face in my neck with a deep sigh. I felt the water soaking through the silk of my blouse.

"You're wet," I whispered, weaving my fingers through his soft hair.

"So are you." I felt him smile against my skin. He surely was taking me for granted.

* * *

**My dear friend Eila has made a beautiful banner for this story. Check it out on my profile—that's exactly how I imagine these two :)**

**Thank you, Katie1824, for being awesome!**

**See you all next week. If you're impatient, I post teasers at The Fictionators' Teaser Monday.**

**I'm on Twitter: LuckyStar815.**

**XO**


	4. Chapter 4

The drumming of raindrops against the window woke me up. I opened my eyes and smiled. I was in Edward Masen's bed. It was the comfiest bed I'd ever slept in. I felt so relaxed. We weren't touching in our sleep, but there was something soothing about the sound of his heartbeat. Even his soft snoring was soothing. And now he wasn't here.

I sat up, leaning against a fluffy pillow and wrapping myself in a silky sheet. It felt so good on my skin. Sadly, all good things usually came to an end.

"Edward," I called, but no reply followed. I cast a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Did he have a meeting at nine on Saturday morning? Or went grocery shopping that early? It was unlikely, and either way, he couldn't be gone for too long without leaving a note.

I lingered in bed for a little longer, looking round the room. The interior was simple, rather minimalistic. Our clothing lay folded in the black leather club chair that sat in the corner to the left of the window. The mirror in the right corner was facing the wall opposite the bed; there was a TV hanging above a long black dresser. No pictures or photo frames or other decoration elements. Nothing. A black wardrobe with sliding doors was fitted into the other wall, facing the window.

Curiosity had taken a hold of me; I got up, slipped on my underwear, then grabbed his white button-down, wrapping myself up in his scent, and tiptoed to the wardrobe. Cautiously, I pulled the heavy door and peeked inside. There were rows of hangers carrying his suits, all black and dark gray, piles of folded white and black shirts, a few black and gray cashmere sweaters, and a lonely pair of black jeans. No skeletons.

I knew I was kind of abusing his trust, but I stepped onto the hardwood floor of the hall and pushed the next door to the left open. It appeared to be a living room, just as impersonal as the kitchen and the bedroom: white walls, a white plush corner sofa with many cushions, a huge TV on the faraway wall, a glass and steel TV unit decorated with fancy black ceramic vases and bowls, and a glass coffee table. Instead of giving me any clues on Edward's personality, his apartment seemed to make him even more of a mystery.

There was another door across the hall and I felt like the Bluebeard's wife, opening it. It looked like this room was finally going to give me some insight into Mr. Mysterious—it was a study, and it would appear he spent most of his time there. The walls weren't bare like in the other rooms; they were covered with various black-and-white photographs of the sea. A perfect order ruled over everything from black bookshelves and a huge desk with an iMac display and a designer lamp to a drafting table standing by the window. I rolled my eyes, coming closer—even his pencils seemed to be in order. There were countless pieces of paper on the drafting table: his sketches and drawings. Some of them made no sense to me, but the others contained seemingly the same object—a house that looked like it was made from glass. I shrugged, carefully putting the drawing back down. One thing was clear for me now: Edward had a penchant for glass.

I closed the door behind me and went to the bathroom. Luckily, my makeup wasn't smeared all over my face, but nonetheless I was looking forward to getting home. I desperately wanted to take a shower, and for some reason it seemed wrong to do it here. When I finished brushing my teeth, I heard the front door opening.

"Good morning."

I turned to find him standing in the bathroom doorway, unzipping his soaked through gray Adidas hoodie. He was smiling at me.

"Morning." I smiled back. "I thought you had disappeared on me."

"I went running in the park." He dropped his hoodie on top of the washing machine. "I'll just take a quick shower and then we'll go have breakfast somewhere nice."

"I don't think so." I shook my head.

He raised his brow. "Why?"

"I won't feel too comfortable wearing my work clothes at a public place on Saturday morning, if you know what I mean," I said quietly.

He frowned. "But you must be hungry."

"I'll eat breakfast when I get home. Besides, I need to feed my cat. I've left him starving."

"I have oranges in the fridge. I'll make some juice." He grabbed a towel from the rack and started drying his hair. "I don't accept _no _for an answer and you know it, Isabella," he said half-menacingly, half-jokingly.

There was something wrong about his concern. As if anything mattered. I would step outside this building and we would never see each other again. That was the plan. Long goodbyes and breakfasts weren't a part of it. And I wasn't supposed to be sad—I'd had a very good time and I wasn't going to ruin my mood. However, I couldn't deny that when I took off his shirt and put on my own clothes, I did it unwillingly.

The air in the kitchen was crisp with a citric tang. It was mouthwatering and the juice was refreshingly cool.

"Thank you." I put my glass down on the table. "I gotta go."

He nodded, finishing his juice and setting his glass next to mine. He helped me into my coat and then went to the bathroom and returned wearing his wet hoodie. I raised my brow.

"I'll see you off to a cab." He took a black umbrella from the coat rack. "It's raining and I don't want you get soaked to the bone."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He unlocked the door, opening it for me.

"Do you go running every morning?" I asked when we were riding down in the elevator.

"Yes. On weekdays I go to a gym as well."

"I'd rather die," I muttered.

He chuckled. "I spent my high school years in naval academy. Self-discipline is like second nature to me."

Inwardly, I thanked God for naval academies and stuff they taught boys.

There was a different doorman downstairs, which saved me an awkward moment. Edward opened the umbrella and I had to take his arm as we crossed the street. He didn't seem to mind. In a few minutes, he hailed a taxi and held the umbrella while I got inside, leaning against the roof of the car.

"Thank you." He bent forward to me, staring into my eyes. "I had a really good time."

I swallowed. "Me, too."

"Take care, Isabella." He closed the car door before I could reply and waved goodbye as the taxi started off.

I didn't look back.

Mr. Puss greeted me with an angry meow, rubbing against my legs.

"I'm so sorry." I stroked him behind the ear. "I've been such a bad, bad mommy."

First of all, I went to the kitchen. The cat didn't finish his dry food, so I figured he wasn't exactly starving but rather suffering from being left alone. Nevertheless, when I opened a can of fish flakes with jelly, he almost pounced on his bowl, making me laugh.

I undressed and finally took a shower, inevitably reviving certain sensual memories as I ran my hands over my body. Once I was finished, I put on a comfy t-shirt and yoga pants, suddenly realizing I was hungry as a hunter. I made a huge pan of scrambled eggs and two slices of toast with butter and gobbled it up. Satisfied, I took my coffee to the living room and sipped it with delight in front of the TV. The room was filled with gray light and the sound of raindrops was making me drowsy despite of the caffeine intake, so I decided not to fight it. I brought an old cashmere shawl from the closet and curled up on the couch. Soon Mr. Puss joined me, lulling me with his purr.

My sweet dreams were disturbed by the annoying sound of the intercom.

"Yes?" I croaked.

"Flowers delivery for Isabella Swan."

I couldn't help but grin as I took a dozen red roses from a delivery guy and inhaled their delicate aroma.

_My dear Isabella, _

_Forget what I said earlier. "Good time" doesn't begin to describe it. It was unforgettable. You bewitched me. I can't stop thinking of you and I'm looking forward to seeing you soon._

_E.M._

My heart was beating so fast in excitement. It was too good to be true, but it was. Edward wanted to meet with me again. The memory of last night made the arousal stir within me, the muscles beginning to quiver. I wanted it, too. I wanted to feel his touch and I wanted to feel wanted. The way he looked at me in the mirror, it was the way no man had ever looked at me. He was right; we were like two magnets and there was no point in denying the pull. We would have to be really careful, though—the project wasn't over and if someone at my work found out we were seeing each other, whatever that meant, I'd be in a lot of trouble.

Later that day, I found Edward Masen on Facebook. He was wearing sunglasses in his profile photo and his page was private, of course—I would be surprised if it wasn't. I wanted to add him as friend but then thought better of it.

Only when I went to bed that night, did I wonder how on earth he had known my address. And then it dawned on me I didn't even have his cell number. It was slightly sobering.

Days started dragging on. I knew I shouldn't have, but whether intentionally or not, I had been waiting for his call. I hadn't given him my number, but I hadn't given him my address either, and yet he knew it somehow. By Thursday, I had lost hope. It would seem that the flowers and the note could mean nothing more than the mere gratitude and I was a naive fool to take it literally. Or, probably, someone else had easily broken my spell on him. Friday, I woke up in a foul mood and decided to drown my pathetic stupidity in a good glass of something strong after work. Why did I let a man affect me over again?

At ten o'clock sharp, my cell started vibrating. My heart stuttered when I saw the unfamiliar number. "Hello."

"Good morning, Isabella." Were there mocking notes in his tone or I was imagining it?

"How do you know my number?"

"I've had it all along. Your boss had given it to me before we went to Milan." He paused. "You don't seem too happy to hear me."

"That's because I don't like the games you're playing."

"No more games." His voice was soft but firm. "Let's have lunch. I'll be perfectly honest with you."

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"It's just lunch. I want to see you. Do you want to see me? Tell me."

I caught myself nervously gnawing at my pen. I could lie and say no, proving to myself that I was an independent person, or I could let him affect me again. It would have to be my choice.

"Yes," I gasped.

"That's what I thought." I could hear him smile. "Let's meet at twelve." He gave me the name of a steakhouse a few blocks away from my office and we hung up.

I didn't have time to think over what I was going to tell him because I had loads of work to do. When I was finally able to take a lunch break, I was already running ten minutes late.

I entered the restaurant, scanning the place for familiar faces. Thankfully, I saw none of my coworkers. There was nothing indecent about having a business lunch, but it could easily turn into a gossip.

He was sitting in the furthest, quite secluded, booth by the window, talking on his phone. I noticed that our clothes matched today—he had a dark gray suit over a black button-down and I was dressed according to my morning mood in a black shirt and pants. His gaze followed my movements as I unbuttoned my trench coat and hung it on the rack.

"I have a meeting now; I'll call you when I get back to the office. Okay." He put his phone down. "You're late again, so I dared to order you a chicken Caesar salad and a club sandwich."

"No oysters? I'm deeply disappointed." I observed a salad bowl in front of me and reached for a glass of mineral water.

He ignored my sarcastic remark. "I'm sorry I left you hanging, but it's been a hell of a week with Emmett being away and I needed some time to think of an offer I'm going to make you."

I raised my brow. "An offer?"

His look became intense, guarded. "I'm a busy man, Isabella. I work sixty hours a week, sometimes eighty, and I'm happy with it. It's my element." He paused. "I don't have time nor interest for the romantic commitment."

"Neither do I," I said. I'd only started enjoying the advantages of single life and I wasn't going to give it all away anytime soon. No man was worth it. "I value my independence."

He nodded, visibly relaxing. "I'm glad we're on the same page. My freedom is very important to me. Emmett's wife, Rose, has been giving him a hard time about this business trip." He wrinkled his nose, looking childishly adorable. "I have no desire whatsoever to deal with such emotional mess."

I frowned, remembering how my boyfriends used to demand detailed reports of every minute of my time spent on business trips. "I can empathize with that. So where does this leave us?"

He chuckled. "I like your businesslike approach."

"Well, it's a business lunch, isn't it?" I took a forkful of salad and began to chew.

"It is indeed." He drank some water from his glass. "And my offer is quite simple. I want your Friday nights to be mine. You can have every other night for yourself. Hanging out with friends. Watching TV. Reading books. Whatever you wish to do. I just want one night a week. We can have dinner somewhere and then go to my place. No strings attached."

I stared at him in disbelief. I could have regular sex with him without any complications? How could this be real?

"Where is the catch?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" He looked confused.

"You won't make me suffer your family dinners or cook you three course meals every day? Or entertain your friends and wash dishes after your house parties? Or spend weekends outdoors? You won't criticize _my_ friends and family? My ex and my stepsister hated each other—just imagine what I've been through," I explained.

He threw his head back, laughing, then cleared his throat. "You're so amusing. My parents don't live here. I don't have many friends and I definitely don't throw house parties. A dishwasher does my dishes. I'm not going to meet your friends and family; it's you I want to be with. As for the weekends, I usually spend them working. Sometimes outdoors, actually, but that's beside the point. I would, however, like you to cook for me, but only if you do it wearing nothing but apron."

"This sounds like a good deal to me." I grinned. My God, it was simply perfect. The tension of this week started dissipating, giving way to a mounting excitement.

"There is one essential condition." His expression was suddenly serious again, his eyes boring into mine. "No sharing. I will be exclusively yours, and I ask the same of you."

Could this be any better? No, it couldn't. "No sharing, sure. Polygamy is not my thing. But I have my own condition."

He slightly furrowed his brow, clearly taken unawares.

"Our project is still running, and even though you're not much involved as an architect, you are still a partner." I paused, frowning. It was harder than I expected. "It wouldn't be good if I was seen out with you. People would talk, you know, and my company doesn't encourage extra-professional relations. If my boss finds out, I can lose my job."

"I understand," he said softly. "We can have dinner in my apartment. It works even better for me—I prefer staying at home to going to places. Also, it means we will have more quality time on our own." He smirked.

"Okay," I said, satisfied that I had somehow managed to get an upper hand in our bargain. "Now I have some questions."

He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go back to work. I will answer one now and the rest when I see you tonight."

"Maybe I already have other plans for tonight," I teased him.

"Then you will cancel them," he said coolly, getting his wallet and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Here's my card. There is my cell number, in case you didn't save it, and I'll write down my address." He turned the card over, scribbled down a few words, and pushed it to me. I reached out, our hands almost touching; he pulled back swiftly.

"I won't touch you now," he whispered, his low voice making my knees give out. "Because if I do, I won't be able to concentrate on work. But tonight I will kiss every inch of your skin and then fuck you on my kitchen table."

I gasped, heat spreading all over my body. I could feel tiny beads of sweat forming on the nape of my neck. I wiped them away.

He chuckled, looking very smug. "Now that you have something to look forward to, you can finish your lunch and ask me your question."

I took a gulp of water. I had seen a caring, gentle side of Edward. Why was he wearing the mask of arrogance again?

"How long will our agreement last?" I asked.

"Until one of us decides to quit. Fair enough, don't you think?"

"Okay." It really was fair, though something told me I would have to work a little bit harder to keep him interested. I pushed my plate aside, food unfinished, and rose. "Thank you for lunch."

"You're welcome." He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'll see you at seven?"

"Seven's fine."

He stood up, managing to help me into my coat without touching me. "I can't wait," he whispered.

He was so close but out of reach. I took a deep breath, drinking in his scent. Sparkles of anticipation found their way into my blood, permeating every cell, suppressed longing trying to break through. I caught myself enjoying it.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it :)**

**Thank you, Katie1824, for making me believe in myself. **

**And happy holidays, everyone! **


	5. Chapter 5

A smile was plastered on my face for the rest of the day. I felt like I had won the lottery. It was hard to concentrate on work; when I was done with all my tasks, it was five thirty already. I made it home by six, checked that Mr. Puss had enough food and water, and packed my overnight cosmetic bag to look decent in the morning. Then I decided it made sense to take a shower and shave my legs again. The lingerie choice appeared to be challenging; I suddenly felt self-conscious like a teenage girl. Finally, I brushed the remaining modesty aside and opted for the red satin bra and thong I'd never once worn—if there was such thing as fitting occasion, it was now. I slid on a plain black wrap dress over it—let him be surprised.

Friday traffic let me down again. It was seven thirty when I exited the cab at Edward's apartment building on Lexington Avenue.

"Good evening," I greeted the doorman. It was the same man I saw there a week ago—Peter, I remembered.

"Good evening, Ms. Swan." He nodded politely. So Edward had given him my name. I didn't know how I felt about that.

The higher the elevator was taking me, the more nervous I was getting. Belatedly I realized I didn't know the man at all. He was hot one second and cold the other, so it was hard to guess what kind of reception I would get tonight. My finger paused on the doorbell and I took a deep breath.

The door flung open and before I could say hi, I was inside and in his arms. Definitely not cold.

"Why are you always late? Do you enjoy driving me in-fucking-sane?" he practically growled, crushing his lips into mine.

"Yes," I gasped. Considering how much he worshipped discipline, he probably had never been late himself. I could imagine how much my behavior must have unsettled him. I loved that.

He groaned, biting my lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make me quiver. I felt weak and heavy as he proceeded to kissing my neck, reaching between us to undo the belt and the buttons of my trench. I wriggled out of the damn thing, letting it fall down, but he caught it and pulled away from me. "I'm starving." He grinned mischievously. "Let's go eat."

He put my coat on the rack and motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen. The long glass table was set with two large white plates and shiny silverware sitting on its far ends and a single candlestick holding a tall white candle in the center.

"What's for dinner tonight?" I asked, having steadied my breathing.

"Filet mignon with side of mashed potatoes and fresh asparagus. Is that okay with you?" He pulled a chair for me.

"Sounds good." I nodded in agreement. "Did you cook?"

The mouthwatering smell permeated the air as he opened the oven. "I don't cook. I prefer professionals to do it for me. And I wouldn't have to warm it up if you arrived on time."

"Sorry," I whispered.

"You're not sorry, are you?"

I feigned an innocent look, making him chuckle. He filled our plates and uncorked a bottle of Château Margaux, humming with satisfaction as he tasted it. "Would you like to try?"

"I'd love to."

He poured some wine into a crystal glass and brought it to my lips. It was excellent—rich and dense, but with a tender finish. I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the bouquet. "Mmm."

"I'm glad you understand good wine." He filled our glasses and took a seat. "I felt like something special to celebrate our agreement. To us."

"To us." I smiled, not taking my eyes from his as I sipped my wine, savoring every drop, then switched my attention to my meal. It was delicious, of course, but not distracting enough. "You promised to answer my questions," I reminded him.

He frowned, just slightly. "Yes."

I decided to start with the easiest one. "You mentioned a naval academy. Where was it?"

Instantly, his look became wary as if I had taken him off guard. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I'm just making a conversation. I want to know you. Would you prefer talking about the weather? It is really nice today."

"Don't you like things the way they are now?" he asked quietly. "I don't know you, you don't know me. There is a certain enticement about that."

I slowly shook my head. "Not for me."

He took a deep breath, looking away, his expression blank, thoughtful. It felt like a glass wall had suddenly sprung up in the middle of the table, separating us. Curiosity killed the cat; it occurred to me there was a good chance that he would ask me to leave now. What was wrong about that seemingly innocuous question? It wasn't like I had asked him about his yearly income or anything like that.

"Chicago." His voice was flat, his eyes still wary. "I was born in Chicago and went to Rickover Naval Academy there. I studied architecture at Princeton; I hold the Master of Architecture degree."

"I studied Italian and Linguistics at NYU," I said. "Well, that's pretty obvious."

He nodded with a small forced smile and resumed eating. I felt relief and also hope. As much as I wanted to know him better, I could wait. Maybe if he trusted me more, he would let his walls fall. Only time would tell.

He got up to refill our glasses. "How old were you when your mom got remarried?" he suddenly asked.

"Ten."

"What was it like living with your grandparents?" He sounded genuinely interested.

I finished my food before answering and put my fork down. "To tell the truth, it was great. They loved me and pampered me a bit too much." I couldn't help but smile, taking another sip of wine.

"You don't strike me as a spoiled kid," he observed.

"Well, when I was fourteen, my grandmother died. My grandfather was so attached to her that he hadn't lived long after that."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you." I absently traced the cold surface of my glass with my finger. "So I went to live with my father in New Jersey. He also had a new family by then; he married his best friend's widow, Sue, and they already had two kids. My stepsister Leah, Sue's daughter from her first marriage, is a year older than me, and my stepbrother Seth is three years younger. It wasn't bad, you know, but it was just... not the same."

He was watching me intently, silently, so I continued. "We fought with Leah so often. She wasn't too happy she had to share her room with me. Dad and Sue cared for me deeply, but I wasn't getting as much attention as I had been used to. Also, I had friends left in the city, and we couldn't see each other anymore. It took me some time to get accustomed to a different life. I hadn't gotten used to Jersey, though."

"I think I know what you mean. I spent seven long years in Princeton."

"You were older," I argued, "so you could hop a train anytime. Dad hadn't let me go to the city alone until I turned sixteen."

"I bet you did anyway." He grinned, his expression finally softening. "Something tells me you've always been a rebel."

"True. Once I ditched school and met with my best friend Jacob. We went to the Natural History Museum and then spent the rest of the day frolicking in Central Park. I won't tell you what I had to deal with on returning home." I shook my head. "Enough to say that I kissed my allowance goodbye."

He laughed. "Poor thing."

"I spent summer vacations in Italy with Mom, though. It was fun. Sal, my stepfather, taught me about wine blending when I was fifteen. We've always had such a great time together. And when I got the admission letter from NYU, I was the happiest person alive. I returned to my grandparents' apartment downtown; that's where I live now." I paused. "Why am I telling you this?"

He slightly tilted his head. "Because I asked?"

"Right. Oh, by the way." I narrowed my eyes. "How did you know my address?"

He groaned, covering his face with his hands, his lips still curled into a half-smile. "Let it be my little secret."

"You promised to be honest with me," I reminded him quietly. "You promised."

"Okay." He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it back. "I followed you."

I gawked at him. "You what?"

"Last Saturday, I took another cab to follow you home. To answer your next question, your name is written next to your apartment number."

I kept staring at him, speechless. It was so creepy and so... romantic.

He rose from the table and put his plate into a sink. "I think we've had enough talking for one day." There was something in his voice that made a pleasant tension start building within me. He opened the fridge and took out a crystal bowl of strawberries, sitting it on the table. "Your dessert."

When our eyes locked, he was once again a burning man, just like back then in Milan. "Come here."

I stood up and made a few slow, somewhat unsteady steps toward him. His gentle hands found my waist and he lifted me up effortlessly, making me sit on the edge of the table. "I'm going to feed you."

"Okay," I exhaled.

He picked up a strawberry and held it at my lips, waiting for me to bite into it. Very carefully, feeling anxious for no reason, I sank my teeth into a juicy texture. His free hand rested on my knee, his thumb caressing the skin that instantly became sensitive. He kept feeding me strawberries, watching me with dark eyes and a pleased smile, and I was tingling with impatience.

"What are you having for dessert?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

He took my hand and licked my wrist. "You," he said simply.

I was still half-asleep when I caught the smell of cinnamon. Lazily, I opened my eyes to find him leaning against the doorpost in his running clothes, watching me. "Good morning, Sunshine."

"Morning." I stretched, grinning at him.

He approached the bed and put a paper bag on the nightstand. "We're having cinnamon rolls for breakfast. There's a bakery on the way to the park; I walk past it every day, but I've never been inside before. You make me change my Saturday routine."

"Are you complaining?"

He snickered, bending to the bag and inhaling the aroma. "Not at all. They smell delicious."

With his hair wet from sweat and sticking in every possible direction and his black t-shirt clinging to his chest, _he_ was delicious. I glanced at the clock; it was five minutes past nine. "What time do you want me to leave?"

"I don't have meetings until two."

"Good." I grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and tugged him to me.

"Insatiable, are you?" He chuckled, resting his hand on the headboard, resisting me.

"I am. This why you like me."

"I'm so fucking sweaty. Let me take a shower first."

"I want your sweat embedded in my skin." I pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it aside. He groaned loudly, locking my lower lip between his teeth, and reached for the nightstand drawer.

Later, when he had showered and disappeared into the kitchen to make us orange juice and coffee, I decided it wouldn't hurt to take a shower here, after all. I washed my hair with his shampoo—ridiculously expensive, I knew the brand, and squeezed some body wash into my palm, smiling as I contemplated carrying his scent with me. A soft knock interrupted my blissful reverie.

With water still running, I opened the shower stall door. "What's wrong?"

His pupils dilated instantly as he took me in. "Nothing's wrong. You're a goddess. So gorgeous." The sound of running water softened his voice. "And now you're in my shower." A smile played on his lips as he held out his hand and cupped my chin for a moment. "I'd like to watch you."

The heat surged to my cheeks. I felt uncomfortable in my own skin, I'd always had. But the way he looked at me—with something akin to adoration, with so much need as if we hadn't devoured each other fifteen minutes ago—it was making me bold.

"You're absolutely stunning. I want to close my eyes and imagine you here every morning. Just pretend I'm not around and go on. Indulge me, please," he urged me.

I swallowed thickly and stepped back under the water spray. I didn't look at him as my hands roamed over my body, but I knew he was watching and somehow my movements grew more confident and smooth. My fingers explored the curves and swells of my body just like his did, as if acquainting with the way my skin felt to him when he touched me.

When I was finished, I turned to him again. He was biting his lip, his hand gripping on to the shower stall door. "Thank you. It was such an affecting experience." He passed me a towel and left the bathroom.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in the towel, and reached for a blow dryer, noting that he owned a model with the ionic technology and turbo feature. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was gay—what straight man gave a fuck about that shit?

Having dried my hair and dressed, I joined him in the kitchen. Two glasses of juice and a plate with cinnamon rolls were already waiting on the table; he stood by a sophisticated espresso machine, filling it with coffee beans. Loud and clear sounds of no other than _Habanera*_ were coming from a stereo system.

"How do you like your coffee?" he asked, noticing my arrival.

"A cappuccino, please." I drew a chair nearer and took a seat. "Interesting music choice for a Saturday morning."

"It is always the right time for opera. This morning I feel inclined to _Carmen_. Don't you enjoy it?"

"I do. My grandparents owned a vast collection of records. There were so many great performances and I was raised to love it. _Carmen_ is one of my favorites, actually."

He grinned wide. "One more thing we have in common. I think it's divine."

I left after breakfast. We had a long goodbye, kissing slowly in the hallway until I broke away. "I want something of mine back."

"No idea what you're talking about." His eyes were full of mischief.

"I might search you."

"Go ahead."

I traced the gray cashmere of his V-neck with my fingers before dipping my hand into his hip pocket where my panties disappeared yesterday. "You didn't think I would forget, did you?"

He chuckled. "No, I didn't. You're not that kind of girl. I was just waiting for you to ask."

He saw me off at the elevator and kissed the back of my hand—such an old-fashioned and touching gesture. "Until next week, Isabella. Be safe."

"You too." The last thing I saw before the elevator doors slid close was his cunning smile.

I had planned to visit Leah's family today, so I got out of the taxi at the WTC and took a train to Jersey City. They lived in a two-story detached house a few blocks away from my father's in the quiet neighborhood of Greenville.

We were sitting in their kitchen and Leah was making cupcakes while Sam, her husband, took their four-year-old twins Rachel and Rebecca to a ballet class.

"You're reeking of sex," she said nonchalantly all of a sudden.

I choked on my camomile tea. "What?"

"Oh, come on." She smirked and her blue eyes pierced mine. "Look at you. Puffy lips. Vacant stare. The smell, of course. Plus, I haven't seen you relaxed like this for ages."

"Um, I'm seeing someone," I confessed, hoping she would just let it go yet knowing better.

"A new boyfriend?"

"Sort of."

"You should have brought him along and introduced us. What kind of person is he? Not another loser, I hope?"

"He's an architect. Works eighty hours a week and lives in the Upper East Side." I really didn't know what else to say. That Edward enjoyed listening to opera and watching me shower? That he was a business partner of my company so I had to keep a low profile? "I like him. A lot," I added.

She nodded before switching her attention back to the batter. "Of course you do. One of New York's most eligible bachelors—what's there not to like?"

"Yeah," I said sarcastically, "gold digger is my middle name."

Leah snorted. "Actually, it would be nice if a guy was spending money on you, not the other way round. For a change, you know?"

She was referring to my past relationship—when I lived with Jared in his tiny apartment in East Village, he was paying the mortgage and I was paying for everything else. It seemed fair to me at the moment but looking back, it had been everything but, given that I was also the one to cook and clean and get groceries while all he did was drink beer and complain about being underpaid.

"Just be careful, Bella," she continued, narrowing her eyes at me. "This type of man is dangerous. Don't let him become your undoing."

"Goddamn it, Leah!" I snapped. "You're always so biased about the guys I date! This is why I don't want you to meet him, or anyone else for that matter!"

"But I've always been right about them, haven't I?" She sighed, shaking her head.

I huffed. I wanted to say that she didn't know him but bit back the words. The bitter truth hurt—I didn't know him myself and the odds were that I never would.

The front door squeaked and the ringing voices of my nieces sounded in the hall.

"Charlie was asking about your love-life, by the way," Leah said quietly. She still hadn't taken to calling him Dad. "He is worried about you. You should bring this new guy to his birthday party." There was an edge of finality to her words. I tried to imagine Edward, dressed in one of his tailored suits, in my dad's shabby kitchen. I couldn't.

"Aunt Bella!" the twins squealed together. They practically raced to me, giggling as they simultaneously kissed my both cheeks.

"Hi, little angels." I wrapped my arms around them, tousling their dark curls. "How was your ballet class today? Started _Swan Lake_ yet?" I couldn't help laughing as they vied with each other in telling me about exercising the second position. I always felt so happy around them.

When I arrived at work on Monday morning, I found a dozen wine red roses waiting for me on my desk.

"Good morning," he answered on the first ring. It felt like he was breathing hot air into my ear.

"Morning," I drawled. "Thank you for the roses. They're beautiful."

"Their beauty pales in comparison with yours," he murmured, making me hold my breath. I imagined him tracing his lip with his finger as he spoke. "I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you. And I want you to look at them and think of me."

I peeked at my co-workers; everyone within hearing distance seemed to be busy with their own phone conversations, so I dared to be brazen. "Did you imagine me when you were taking a shower this morning?" I whispered, trying to sound seductive.

He laughed softly. "I most definitely did. And just so you know, I'm at a planning meeting right now and my colleagues are getting curious."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"We both know that you're not sorry." His voice was deep and quiet, wrapping around me intimately. "I'll see you Friday."

After work that day, I went lingerie shopping.

* * *

***_Habanera_ is a famous aria from the opera _Carmen_ by Georges Bizet. It is sometimes referred to as "_L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_." _("Love is a rebellious bird")_.**

**Thank you, Katie1824, for loving kitchen tables and showers as much as I do.**

**Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You make me smile :)**

**And HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

April came in the blink of an eye.

"I have a present for you," I declared with a grin as I entered Edward's apartment on a warm Friday night.

"A present?" He raised his brow in confusion. "What's the occasion?"

"Well." I kissed him briefly on the cheek and handed him a rectangular box wrapped in bright red paper. "You like playing games, so I thought you might enjoy this one. Open it." It was also a month since we started seeing each other, but I wasn't expecting him to remember, let alone make much of that.

He tore the wrapping off the box and groaned. "Twister? Better kill me now."

I laughed. "Come on, it will be fun! Or would you rather play Scrabble?" To tell the truth, I racked my brain for hours, trying to come up with some diversion from our routine of having sex, eating, and talking. To be more precise, usually it was me talking and he listening.

"God, no. Definitely not Scrabble." He pulled me close, giving me a proper welcoming kiss.

He had surprised me in the morning when he called to ask what I would like for dinner, so we had Pasta Alfredo of my choice and then proceeded to the living room.

"I think you want to change," I told him once he moved the coffee table into the corner, clearing some space on the floor. I came prepared, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and he was in his usual button-down and dress pants—not too comfortable attire for making awkward movements on the floor.

He nodded, retreating to the bedroom. I switched on the wall lights and picked up the TV remote, flipping the channels until I found VH1 Classic. _Legends_ was on; that would do.

"Are we taking a trip down the memory lane tonight?" he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. He had changed into his workout clothes—black cotton sweatpants and a t-shirt, so soft to the touch.

"Don't you love that sometimes? How old are you, anyway?" I blurted without thinking and tensed, expecting his walls to spring up between us again. Personal questions were off-limits—it seemed to be an unspoken rule.

But he just chuckled, playfully nibbling at my ear. "I'm thirty-one this year."

"When is that?" His serenity was making me grow bolder.

"June 20. It falls on Monday this year—I'll be working, so don't bother with birthday gifts."

We'd see to it. "You already have a present from me. Let's get down to it."

We spread the plastic mat on the thick beige carpet and came to stand on the opposite ends. The bright dots looked somewhat out of place in this colorless room.

"When was the last time you played Twister?" I asked.

"Hmm... In high school, probably?"

"Should I remind you of the rules?"

"Nope. I have a good memory." He flashed a smile. "But since there are only the two of us, I think it makes sense to play without using the spinner. One calls out the body part; the other calls out the circle color, then we alternate." He was anything if not businesslike.

"I think that works."

"I'll let you call out the body part first."

"How sweet of you." I snorted. "Right hand."

"Green." It was an evil move—green dots were at the right on his end of the mat. I bent down, trying to be as graceful as I could. He grunted as his own hand touched the floor.

"Aren't you supposed to be fit after working out so much?" I teased him.

He laughed. "Said she who thinks working out means sitting on her ass at work."

"Hey! Just so you know, I go to a swimming pool and take yoga classes! And what's wrong with my ass?"

He held out his free hand and felt me up playfully. "You have a sensational ass. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

I tried to take it easy as I called out the next steps, but he was taking no prisoners. Eventually, he forced me to go under him to place my right foot on the yellow dot, and we became entangled, our bare feet touching. He snickered, pleased with himself, and lost his unstable equilibrium. In another moment, the weight of his body pressed me to the floor and we both started laughing hysterically.

Wriggling, I tried to push him away, but he kept me in place. I could feel his chest heaving with each intake of breath as he was looking down at me, and the growing intensity of his gaze made my laughter die down.

For a few long seconds, or minutes, or hours, we just kept staring into each other's eyes. Deliberately, as though hesitating, he lowered his face until his hot breath caressed my lips. I suddenly lost all my thoughts. Then he kissed me, so softly like never before.

If I could choose one moment to carry with me into afterlife, it would be this. The touch of his lips, making me light-headed. The stars and the heat in his eyes. Strange magic of his fingertips over my skin. I knew he was a fantastic kisser, but this time it was somehow different, like a teenage boy kisses a girl for the very first time—delicate and overwhelming, pure and sufficient.

"You have such great hair," I whisper-kissed him, my fingers weaving into his silky strands. "Promise me you won't cut it."

"I've been wearing it like this for over ten years. I won't cut it. Scout's honor," he whisper-kissed me back.

"You were a Scout?"

He smiled against my lips, biting gently. "Shut up."

And we continued until our limbs went numb because of our awkward position. He rose to his feet and helped me up, making me sit on the sofa. "Would you like some ice cream?"

I grinned. "Sure."

He grinned back, lazily stretching, collected the plastic mat from the floor, and moved the coffee table back to its place. When he returned with a pint of B&J's _Cherry Garcia _and a single spoon, I had made myself comfortable, nestling among the white fluffy pillows. He settled between my knees, leaning back against me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, nuzzling into his hair. "Will you feed me?"

"Give it some time to melt a bit," he murmured, taking my hand and giving my palm a long sensuous lick. "I can't help this strong tacky association." He chuckled. "Tell me about a boy who popped your cherry."

"Oh no," I groaned. "It was so stupid."

"Now I'm dying of curiosity."

"No."

"No story, no ice cream." It was a primitive, childish blackmail. I huffed and poked my finger between his ribs, making him squirm and laugh.

"I was seventeen," I said, glad I wasn't facing him as I spoke. "I was still waiting for a Prince Charming to arrive, and I had this notion that boys preferred girls who had the experience." I took a breath and felt his thumb drawing circles on the back of my hand, as if reassuring me to go on. "I mean, all the popular girls in our school bragged about having sex every now and then."

"And you were curious?"

"Sort of."

"Had he?"

"Who?" I asked, confused.

"Had he arrived just in time? Your Prince Charming."

"Err... Not really. But I kind of wanted to be ready for him, you know? Not to disappoint."

He slightly shook his head; I was dying to see his expression.

"I told you it was stupid," I said. "So me and my best friend Jacob, who had the similar problem, decided to go for it. Well, that was before he discovered he's gay, obviously."

His whole frame started shaking with laughter. "So the guy changed his sexual preferences after sleeping with you? Gross!"

I tried to kick him with my knee, but he caught it, holding me still. "Was it worth it?" he asked, his voice suddenly quiet.

"It wasn't too bad." I shrugged. Never once did I regret that decision. If I kept waiting for Mr. Right, I would still be a virgin.

"I mean, when you met _the one_, did it matter?"

"What makes you think I did?"

He half-turned and when his eyes met mine, the same spark as before was there, the smile was there, but something intangible changed in his expression. "I wish I knew you when you were seventeen," he whispered, his words pulling at some cord inside me I didn't know existed.

"What would you do?" I managed a smile.

He shifted to kneel between my legs, facing me. "I would start with this." He opened the ice cream carton and brought a spoonful to my lips, then helped himself to another one, mischievous grin back full force. "Sharing is caring."

I wanted to tell him that no man had fed me before him and I really liked when he did so, but couldn't force myself to spill it out for some reason.

Having reached the bottom of the carton, he scraped it and let me savor the last drops, sitting the carton and the spoon back on the coffee table. "Then I would muster up my courage and do this." His lips were on mine again, hesitant no more, and we were sharing the remnants of sweet taste.

"Then I would try to get to a second base." He gasped, breaking away for air.

"Don't tell me you played baseball, too." I giggled.

"I did. I was a catcher."

_Of course you were_, I thought.

And then we were making out for real, hands wandering, feet teasing, lips and tongues promising. Lust, deep and scorching, was there, but neither of us was in a hurry to satisfy it, as if unwilling for something indistinct but important to slip away if we did. Eventually we grew tired, our tempo slowing down, and then we just held each other, his lips on my throat and my hands in his hair. I didn't realize I fell asleep until he woke me up, sweeping his fingers across my cheek.

"It's half past midnight," he said softly and yawned. "As much as I'd love to get to a third base tonight, I have to take a rain check. Let's go to bed."

I nodded, relieved that he was just as tired. He rested his hand on the small of my back and led me to the bedroom. He let me use the bathroom first and I stood there, blinking, contemplating whether I should keep my underwear or my t-shirt on. Previous nights I slept naked, but today felt different. Finally, I noticed he had left his white shirt atop of the washing machine, so I pulled it over my underwear and that was it. He raised his brow at me but said nothing.

I slipped into bed and lay on my side. He returned from the bathroom shortly, clad in gray pajama bottoms. He lay beside me on his back, keeping the usual distance between us, sighed deeply, and switched off the lights. And just as I was ready for his heartbeat to lull me to sleep, I heard the rustle of sheets.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered, pressing his warm lips to my temple.

My body felt boneless and I sunk into a perfectly sound sleep. I dreamed about kisses stolen under the bleachers and a beautiful boy I would never get to keep if he met me when I was seventeen.

When gentle rays of morning sun woke me, he was the first thing I saw, all fresh and clean and dressed and hair styled. "I'm taking you out for breakfast today. Right now."

"But," I mumbled. I was hoping we would round third base and hit home run this morning, but he seemed to be perfectly content without it.

"No buts, Isabella. You don't have a feeble excuse of wearing your work clothes anymore. Jeans and a t-shirt are more than suitable for the place I'm taking you, trust me. Hurry up."

"Why the rush?"

"I have a meeting in the outskirts today. I meant to wake you earlier but you looked so peaceful in your sleep that I just couldn't." He smiled.

I sighed. It made sense—if I had a long day ahead and a very little time, I would also choose good breakfast over sex.

We walked up the street, turning to the 3rd Avenue, past Starbucks, until he stopped abruptly at the small McDonalds crammed between the tall buildings. I stared at him in disbelief and he snickered, opening the door for me. "Don't tell me you don't like Egg McMuffin. It will break my heart."

"I love it."

"Good." He pointed to an empty table in the corner. I sat down, watching him place our order. A black leather jacket he was wearing over a charcoal-gray button-down and pants made him look casual, easily mingling with other customers. Maybe he would fit in Charlie's kitchen, after all.

"I'd never imagine you were a kind of person to even cross McDonald's threshold," I said, examining a tray full of greasy, yummy food and contemplating what to start with.

"I do sometimes. I have a soft spot for junk food," he confessed, biting into his sandwich, his eyes suddenly wary as if begging me not to ask questions.

I nodded, mentally adding this point to a short list of things I knew about Edward. "I just like eggs. And bacon. And cheese. And Hash Browns. I could live on breakfast food only. Normally, I prefer to eat healthily, but sometimes it's good to unwind and feast upon stuff like this."

He laughed. "Looks like I've finally found a partner in crime."

"When was the last time you had taken a girl to a fast food restaurant?" I giggled. "In high school? At college?"

"Um... I don't think I ever have. I always showed off."

"I'm wounded, you know." I pouted, holding back the laughter.

"Don't be. It seemed like a natural thing to do after playing Twister." He grinned wide, tiny lines forming at the corners of his eyes, and then reached over the table, tracing my cheek with his fingers. "Yesterday... It was refreshing. I don't remember the last time I felt so alive. Thank you."

"I'm so bringing Scrabble next time."

"Don't you dare."

The weekend was uneventful. The weather was fabulous, but for some reason I didn't feel like going out and spent the rest of Saturday cleaning my apartment and watching TV. My Sunday started with the usual yoga class, then suddenly I felt like cooking. When the quite extravagant three-course meal of minestrone, chicken scarpariello, and a marble pound cake was ready, I called Alice. It had been a long while since we saw each other or even talked. I invited her for dinner but she appeared to be busy and suggested we meet next Friday instead. I couldn't say no—not only did I fail to find any plausible excuse, I simply missed my friend and wanted to see her.

Then I called Edward.

"How was your meeting?" I asked.

"It didn't quite go as expected." He sounded tired, dead beat even.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Did you at least manage to catch some sun yesterday?"

"Only in the car. Did you?"

"Not really. I wasn't in the mood to deal with the outside world." I sighed. "Listen, about next week. Will you be terribly upset if I can't make it to dinner? I'm meeting with a friend."

"But you will come later, won't you?" He _was_ upset; I could feel it.

"Sure. I'm just skipping dinner."

"Okay. I will probably be working late anyway."

"It's not okay. I like it when you feed me," I finally confessed.

He chuckled. "I know."

I smiled. Cocky was better than dejected. "Er... actually, I've made dinner today. Want to come over?"

"No, thank you." His voice was suddenly cold with estrangement. "I need to work."

"Don't work too much."

"Don't tell me what to do." It was a playful warning, judging by his tone, but a warning nonetheless.

"See you," I breathed, hanging up. Well, at least now I had food to last me for a couple of days.

I didn't call him the following week. I had no wish to impose on him; if he wanted to talk, he would call me himself. He didn't.

Next Friday after work, Alice and I went for a walk in SoHo, looking in on galleries and vintage shops, and then had dinner at the Irish pub midtown. Something was off but I couldn't put my finger on it. She seemed quite distant, lost in thought; she didn't even buy anything at her favorite boutique. We talked mostly about work and people we both knew. I noticed the tension about her when I asked about Jasper and crossed my fingers, hoping it was only some temporary cloud on their sky and they would work it out soon. We all met at college and they started dating back then; I always thought they were perfect for each other, an example of work and personal life existing in harmony. I needed to believe it was possible.

The tension, however, didn't stop Alice from being observant. "You look different," she said after a few cocktails.

"Do I?" I raised my brow. I was dressed casually—a plain white cotton tunic, jeans, flats—I didn't want her to suspect I had plans afterward and besides, Edward seemed to appreciate the way I looked in skinny jeans.

"Yeah. I think it's your eyes. You look excited."

I gave her my best smile. "Well... I lead a very busy, exciting life: work events, movies, exhibitions." It was a lie—I spent all week on the couch with Mr. Puss, reading or watching mind-numbing TV shows.

She nodded, but for some reason I didn't think she bought it.

It was after nine when I arrived at Edward's place. He looked slightly disheveled as he opened the door—barefoot, his hair untidy, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up. When he kissed me, his lips felt tight.

"Is that whiskey I taste?" he whispered.

"It's _Manhattan_ you taste. You could use one, too." I wrapped my arms around his neck, looking into his eyes, warm green and tired.

"Not tonight. I've had a rough week and it's not nearly over." He sighed, brushing his fingertips against my throat. "It's another distraction I could use. Let's start where we left off." His hands slid down to my waist and he pulled me toward the living room. At the threshold, he turned us around, moving backwards until he hit the sofa and sank into it, attacking my mouth as I straddled him.

His fingers crawled under my shirt, rubbing burning circles on the small of my back, then abruptly landed on my jean-clad behind, urging me closer to him. Alcohol in my system didn't let me falter; third base was about to be finally reached and I went for it. He threw his head back with a groan as I pulled away from his lips and kissed his throat, impatiently undoing his belt, but when I unbuttoned his pants, his hands covered mine.

"Stop... God... Fuck," he cursed, breathing heavily.

I gaped at him, panting.

"I can't concentrate," he gasped, his hands gripping mine. "My mind is elsewhere."

"But..." I knew he wanted it; I felt it right there.

"This is wrong. Mechanical fucking won't do. I want more. I want to relax and lose myself in you. And now I just can't. I'm so sorry."

I nodded curtly, slipping down to the sofa beside him, frustrated and confused. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs, and intertwined his fingers on the back of his neck, taking deep breaths.

"Do you want me to go home?" I asked timidly.

He turned abruptly and cupped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. "No. I don't want you to leave. I want you to sleep in my bed and I want to feed you breakfast in the morning. I. Want. You. Don't you dare think otherwise, understood?"

"Yes." I managed a smile, reaching over to ruffle up his hair. "I can watch TV here if you need to work."

"Thank you." He kissed my cheek and got up with a heavy sigh, leaving me on my own.

I turned on the TV just in time for _The Proposal_ to start. I had seen it before, so I knew it would be the distraction I needed so much. Soon I was laughing hysterically, pressing my hand to my mouth to keep quiet.

It was almost midnight when the movie ended and I was frozen to death because I couldn't find the air conditioner remote. Having switched off the TV, I tiptoed into the bathroom and took a hot shower. Then I put my underwear and my tunic back on and stepped into the hall. The study door was closed, so I tentatively knocked twice.

"Come in," he answered.

I slowly pulled the door open to find him at his desk. To my surprise, he was wearing glasses— stylish metal frames with rimless bottom, the lights from the display flickering in them. The rest of the room was dim.

"May I ask what you're doing?" I asked softly.

"Yes, you may." He smiled. "I had some idea and it appeared not to work, so I'm trying to find a different approach."

"What software do you use?"

"Vectorworks. It's for building information modeling."

I nodded, coming up to a leather chair by the window, feeling his eyes on me. "May I sit here?"

"Be my guest."

I sat down and tucked my feet beneath me, covering my knees with a hem of my shirt. "May I watch you work?"

He just chuckled and looked back at the display. I leaned back, observing him—he was so focused on his work that my presence didn't seem to bother him at all. From time to time, he would narrow his eyes, a deep crease forming between his brows, or bite on his lower lip in frustration, or push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I could watch him endlessly, but the constant clicking of the mouse in the dark and silent room had a somnolent effect. I closed my eyes for only a second.

The next thing I remember, I was alone in bed. I blinked, trying to figure out how on earth I had gotten there, but then fell back into slumber.

When I opened my eyes again, it was light already; the clock displayed fifteen to ten. Edward must have returned home after his jog, so I brushed my teeth and went looking for him. I found him where I last saw him—at his desk—and if his hair wasn't wet and his shirt black, I'd think he never left his study.

"Morning," I said.

"Morning." He got up with a smile and came up to bestow me a kiss. His lower lip was chapped where he bit it.

"Did you carry me to bed last night?" I asked.

"I did."

"It's a shame I don't remember it." I sighed. "Did you sleep at all?"

"For a few hours. Don't worry—I'm used to it. I'm up since six."

"Any success?" I nodded at his desk.

"Not much." He frowned and tucked my hair behind my ear. "Let's go have breakfast."

A paper bag from the bakery was waiting on the kitchen table; he made us two cappuccinos, turned the music on, and sat down, pulling me into his lap. With the soft and moving sounds of _Tosca*_ playing in the background, he was feeding me delicious croissants. A smile never left his lips and I hated that I would have to kill his buzz.

"I need to tell you something." I put my hands on his shoulders, searching his eyes. "My mom is coming from Italy next Wednesday."

He raised his brow.

I took a deep breath. "She comes over for Easter every year. We go to church on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights, and on Sunday morning. It's a tradition."

"It means I won't see you next week," he said quietly, his smile all but gone.

"I'm sorry." I reached over to caress his hair, but he caught my wrist gently.

"It's okay. Save an Easter egg for me, will you?"

"Sure." I wanted to ask what Easter traditions his own family followed, but stopped myself. Behind the trendy glasses I saw a shade of unmistakable sorrow, and I was certain it had nothing to do with me.

"I gotta get back to work," he said.

I nodded, getting up. "Call me."

"I will."

* * *

**_*Tosca is an opera by Giacomo Puccini to an Italian libretto by Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa._**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. You guys are totally awesome!**

**Katie1824, thank you for being gentle while popping the cherry of this story.**


	7. Chapter 7

He called me late Wednesday night, his voice surprisingly cheery. "Did your mom have a good flight?"

"Yeah, she's asleep now. How has your work been going?"

"Good. Problem solved."

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. Is your mom sleeping in the same room?" he asked suddenly.

"No, why?"

"Hmm." He chuckled. "I'd like to listen to the sounds you make when you touch yourself."

I gasped. "What?"

"Please. It's been a while since I heard your sexy sounds. I miss that."

"I—"

"Come on. You like to tease me. Do it now," he whispered in a deep, jagged voice that made the carefully withheld desire sweep over me, spiraling down. Of its own volition, my hand that wasn't holding the phone slid under the covers and gripped the hem of my slip, the touch of lace rough against my fingertips. Then it dawned on me two could play that game.

"Do you want to know what I'm wearing to bed tonight?" I asked.

He laughed softly. "Tell me."

"It's a cream silk slip with black lace trim."

"You never wear such things for me," he accused.

"Aren't you supposed to have good imagination? Use it."

"Do you have any idea where it's taking me right now?"

"Yes," I whispered, suddenly aware of every breath I was drawing in. My hand let go of lace, finally reaching its destination, and I gasped as the wave of sensation surged through me. I knew that he knew what had just transpired; his own breathing became short and sharp. And then, we were in this together; it was _his _hand touching me, _his_ soft moans guiding me toward the point where my toes were curling and I was sweaty and tender but not nearly sated.

"You are so fucking beautiful." His words kept echoing in my head long after we had hung up.

* * *

"So," Mom said as we were having breakfast. "Have you finally met someone?"

I cringed internally; as much as I loved my mother, she was even worse than Leah when it came to the boyfriend issue. She would never buy that Edward was too busy to meet with her.

"No. But I enjoy being single, so you don't need to worry about that. Really."

She frowned and shook her head. "This is unnatural."

"What is?" I started twisting a paper napkin in my hands.

"You are beautiful and intelligent, and you're turning into a spinster whose only companion is her cat. This makes no sense to me."

"I love you too, Mom. But I'm afraid you're exaggerating my virtues," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "And modesty is one of them. You must go out more often—how can you meet anyone if you spend all your life at work? Oh, and you need a new haircut. I loved it when you had that short bob. Suited you so much better."

"Mom, please." I took the dishes to the sink and turned on the faucet. "I go out, okay? I socialize quite a lot, actually."

"Aren't there any worthy men in New York, then?"

I sighed, staring at the bubbly water whirling in the sink. "What if I'm waiting for someone special?"

"How long are you going to wait, _tesoro mio_? You're turning thirty this year."

"I don't know," I mumbled, grabbing the towel to dry my hands. "How's Sal? I haven't talked with him for ages."

"Busy as usual," she said with a slight frown. "Sometimes we don't see each other for a week—when he returns home, I'm already asleep."

Sal was a heart surgeon, and a talented one at that. He was making good money, but there was a downside to it—a lack of spare time. Mom used to complain he was married to his work.

I glanced at the clock. "Speaking of work, I gotta go or I'll be late. I'll see you at the church."

We usually went to St. Peter's church in lower Manhattan. Just like my grandparents, Mom regarded Catholic Mass with reverence and went to church every Sunday. It had a certain impact on my upbringing—as a kid, I even attended Catechism classes. Things changed when I moved to live with my dad. In his family, Easter was just a festival and instead of attending Sunday Mass, we were hunting for chocolate eggs in the garden—even though Dad and Sue were protestants, they didn't go to services for worship.

Needless to say, it didn't take long before the foundations of Catholic faith on which I was raised started to crumble. I didn't reject God or Christianity per se; it was more that I tended to think that faith had very little to do with rites and denominations. Mom used to nag me to go to confession but eventually she gave up. Going to church during Easter remained the only thing she insisted upon. I didn't object—above all, it somehow drew us together as a family.

It was Friday night when I lay alone in my bed, unsuccessfully trying to fall asleep, that I realized I was missing Edward. I had grown attached to him—and it wasn't sex I was craving; it was his smile, his voice, his smell, and the most of all, the way I felt around him. I couldn't grasp why, but I liked myself when I was with him. And then I acknowledged with alarm that I would like him to meet my mom. It made no sense—we didn't have a relationship; we had sex, or didn't have it for three weeks, so to speak. Maybe frustration started messing with my head. I _didn't want _a relationship to begin with; why would something like that bother me? I was perplexing myself. Something was getting out of hand; control was slipping, and I didn't like it.

Mom left on Sunday afternoon. We shed a few tears, embracing at the airport. We would see each other again in August—I always spent my summer vacation with her and Sal in Italy, but it was still a long time to go.

The following week, Edward called me a few times at lunchtime. He was maliciously playful; Friday couldn't come fast enough. When it finally had, I decided to pay him back in his own coin. Boldly, I chose the sexy kitten outfit: a thin white shirt over a black bra, a tight black pencil skirt, black thigh-highs, black leather pumps, and finally, the tiniest black panties I owned. I applied more make-up than I usually wore and added the finishing touch, wrapping a leopard print silk scarf around my neck. It was a warm night but I wasn't brazen enough to go out without my trench—it was for his eyes only.

When the taxi came to a stop in front of Edward's building, I was surprised to see him waiting for me outside.

"Getting some fresh air to sleep tight?" I asked.

"Sleep? I'm afraid, no chance of it tonight." He winked.

We started kissing frantically in the elevator, unable to stay away from each other any longer. We continued in the corridor and finally stumbled into his apartment. He unfastened my coat and stepped back, taking me in for a moment before clasping me tight in his arms again. Something told me tonight our dinner would get cold.

Bouncing off the walls, we made it to the bedroom. His fingers did quick work of unzipping my skirt and he groaned as it fell down, revealing what lay underneath. My shirt followed and then it was me leading him impatiently, pushing him onto the bed.

"I'm going to do with you what I will," I whispered into his ear.

"Oh yeah?" He chuckled. "How far are you willing to go?" His voice was husky.

I pulled back, searching his dark eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Just exactly that. How far, Isabella?" He was challenging me.

"How far do you want me to go?" Anxiety crept in, coiling in the pit of my stomach, but excitement was stronger and it had every chance to win the battle.

He placed his unsteady hands on my shoulders, making me let him go, rose from the bed and walked to the dresser. From its top drawer, he produced a silk scarf similar to mine but black with intricate white pattern. The second his eyes met mine again, I knew what he meant.

"No," I gasped.

"It's not for you. It's for me." His voice had an edge to it. "You can tie my hands with this scarf and do with me what you will. I want you to." He folded the scarf and wrapped it around his wrist. "I'll be yours."

For a few moments, we were staring at each other in breathless suspense. He placed the scarf on the bed, took off his suit jacket, dropped it on the chair, then proceeded to the nightstand and fumbled with something in its drawer. Casual, comforting movements. My heart was thrashing in my chest in sudden exhilaration. He took off his watch.

"Okay," I said.

He smiled, crawling on the bed toward me. "I trust you. Be gentle with me, will you?"

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pushed him down on the bed again. My pulse quickened as I reached for the scarf. Smirking, he raised his hands above his head, waiting for me to bind them. "Tighter."

I pressed my finger to his lips to silence him. It was then I had the idea. If we were playing again, we could as well play by my rules. My eyes not leaving his, I brought my hands to my neck and untied my own scarf. His eyes widened as he understood my intention.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

He shook his head and I carefully blindfolded him, my fingers lingering at his hair. I kissed him, softly at first, but he deepened the kiss, frustration of the past few weeks mixing with anticipation. Not giving it too much thought, I gripped his shirt and ripped it apart, buttons scattering all over the bed.

"Sorry about that," I murmured as my lips finally had access to the smooth skin of his chest.

"Like hell you're sorry." Laughter still reverberated in his throat as I kissed all the way down. He was right—I enjoyed teasing him. Knowing that I could affect him, that I could give him what he wanted made me feel so powerful.

As slowly as possible, I undid his belt, and he arched his back, seeking closeness. His whole body trembled when I tasted him for the first time. He groaned and I smiled, getting down to action. Having him at my mercy was thrilling; I enjoyed his every sigh, every move he made in response to what I did to him. Even if it wasn't really true, right now he was mine and mine alone. My own need for him was growing intolerable; he hissed as I let go of him and groped for a foil square he left by the pillow, tearing it up quickly. When I finally felt him, it was so good and too much, and I moaned, and he laughed, and neither of us lasted long after that.

I removed the blindfold; he waited patiently for me to untie his hands. I rubbed them, bringing back the circulation, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me so tight it almost hurt. "You're incredible."

We lay like that for some time, regaining our breathing. "You know," he finally said. "I really liked this shirt."

I snorted and he kissed me. "Let's have a bath." He turned us around and got up, discarding his ruined shirt and kicking off the rest of his clothing that I hadn't bothered to completely take off.

The bath water had a strong scent of the ocean; I closed my eyes, letting its pleasant warmth caress my skin. I was sitting between his legs, so relaxed that it felt like my back was melting into his chest.

"Did you try it before?" I asked, covering his hand on the bathtub edge with my own. It was a stupid question, given that he owned that scarf in the first place—I doubted he had the intention of wearing it.

"Yes, but it was different." His voice was slightly tense.

"Different how?"

"I wasn't the one bound."

Oh." I paused, wrapping my head around his words. "Never?"

"Never."

"Why?"

He sighed, nuzzling my hair. "I haven't trusted anyone else to do it before."

I turned to look into his eyes; there was something in them that echoed in my heart.

"I've tried many different things," he confessed. "I was seeking ways to intensify pleasure until I realized that eventually you get bored anyway."

My heart skipped a beat. I wondered how long I had before he would get bored with me and what it would take to hold him.

"How does it feel, being bound?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Very intense, for lack of a better word. Probably even more so because I couldn't see. If one of the senses is blocked, the others sharpen—it's a well-known thing."

"But it hurt." I traced his wrist with my finger.

"It's nothing. Do you want to try?"

I turned to meet his eyes again; sparkles of excitement danced in them. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Do you trust me?" It was a loaded question.

I gave him a slight nod, smiling. He stood up with a loud splash and lifted me by my hands.

The bedroom was a mess; our clothes were scattered everywhere. He ran his hand over the sheets, throwing the buttons to the floor, and traced his thumb across my lower lip. "I want you to lie face down."

I obeyed, not without the attack of nerves. He must have felt my tension because he climbed behind me and lightly stroked my shoulders. "Isabella, I won't do anything we haven't done before. You hear me?"

"Uh-huh."

He guided my hands to rest on the pillow above my head. "It's not about pushing the boundaries. If you don't like something, anything, just say stop, and we stop. Okay?"

"Okay."

I felt smooth, cool touch of silk grazing down my arm, leaving goose bumps on its wake.

He brought my wrists together and carefully wrapped the scarf around them. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." He was right—it wasn't too tight to hurt.

"Good," he murmured, placing an open-mouthed kiss between my shoulders. The heat instantly radiated across my skin. I wanted him to touch me to take the edge of longing away, but he didn't—he enjoyed teasing me, too. His lips moved down my spine and up again, his breathing heavy, his heartbeat as loud as my own. When he nibbled at my neck, every cell of my body was wound up and ready to explode. "Please," I croaked, "please."

"Impatient, are you?" He chuckled and his teeth grazed my earlobe, sending an electric current over my body, down to my toes. "Let's turn over."

He helped me onto my back and hovered over me, his hair still damp from our bath. I was dying to touch it, to run my fingers through the wet strands, but he put my hands back on the pillow. "I'm going to blindfold you now," he warned. "Say yes if you agree."

"Yes," I panted, watching him slowly bring the other scarf to my eyes.

And then something went wrong. The darkness surrounded me, thick and heavy like murky waters. I tried to relax and concentrate on the pleasure but I couldn't. Instead of feeling aroused, I felt vulnerable and exposed. I felt the touch of his hands on my skin, the hands I didn't trust anymore. Even though somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he would do me no harm, my subconscious seemed to have a different idea.

Guided by pure instinct, I tried to break away, meeting the resistance of silk, and the fear of losing control aggravated the panic. I felt trapped; never before had I been so helpless. I didn't feel my feet; my heart was thrashing against my ribcage as though trying to burst out. He was telling me something but I was unable to make out the words.

My mouth was dry as I finally cried out, "Stop! Please stop!"

Light harshly hit my eyes as he yanked the scarf away. I gulped for air, as if coming to the water surface after diving. It took him forever to untie my hands—so badly were they shaking.

"Shhh." His face was ashen as he brought my hands, now free, down, rubbing my numb wrists. "It's okay."

"Aargh." I yanked them away and rolled on my side, pins and needles attacking immediately. Through my tear-clouded vision, I saw him kneeling on the floor beside the bed and buried my face in the pillow, biting hard on my lip. I couldn't believe I abased myself by displaying how feeble I was in front of him.

"Bella," he called. "Look at me." His voice was shaky. "Look at me, please," he said again when I didn't respond.

I turned my head to face him. He reached out his hand, bringing two blue pills to my lips. "Open your mouth."

I didn't have it in me to argue, so I just took the pills and the glass of water he was holding in the other hand and gulped it down, turning back to the pillow. I heard him move behind me and shivered as something brushed against my back, but it was only a sheet. He didn't touch me as he covered me. "Sleep," he whispered. Then he was gone.

When I opened my eyes, the light of morning was breaking through the slits in the loosely drawn Venetian blinds. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with pained expression. His eyes looked tired and he was dressed in a white button-down—did he skip his morning run? Clasping the sheet to my chest, I sat up against the headboard.

"I'm sorry," he said warily. "What happened... it's entirely my fault. I am the experienced one, I should have known better. You're such a rebellious heart—a wild cat who can't take to being restrained." It was a statement, not a question.

I shook my head slightly, wanting to avoid his gaze but unable to.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continued quietly. "I was just careless and stupid and I'll understand if you don't want to see me again."

I licked my dry lips and tried to swallow.

He reached over and caressed my hair, not touching my skin. "But I don't want to let you go, Isabella. _I can't._ I've been searching so long for someone exactly like you," he confessed in a whisper. "I want to make it up to you. I will do anything for you. Tell me what you want and you can have it."

My heart took a sudden leap, accelerating and making it hard to breathe. "I want to take a shower," I stammered.

He rose, crossed the room to the wardrobe to get one of his white shirts, and handed it to me. Freshly laundered, it didn't smell like him; it was wrong.

I closed the bathroom door behind me and stared at my own reflection in the mirror. I looked like shit with the smeared make-up and a haystack of hair. Why would he still want anything to do with me? And after the stunt I pulled last night... He had enjoyed being bound—why couldn't I? I inspected my wrists—there wasn't a single bruise. It wasn't too bad. No, it was. I shuddered at the memory of being completely panic stricken and gasped for air. It was awful—gut-wrenchingly awful. I didn't want to say goodbye to Edward, but if that was what he wanted, he could go to hell. And right now, all I wanted was to go home, curl into a ball on my couch, and have a long good cry, feeling sorry for my weak, pathetic self.

I brushed my teeth and stepped into the shower. As I reached for the shampoo, I heard the click of the door opening behind me and a strong hand took a hold of the bottle. "Let me."

I didn't move, only my breath caught. Very carefully, he untangled the long strands of my hair and massaged my scalp. When he was finished washing my hair, his fingers gently slid down my arms. Without uttering a word, he started lathering my skin, awakening the tingles. He knew what he was doing, making me forget everything except what his hands did to my body at that moment. He knew that once his thumb circled my breast, I would rest my palms flat on the wet tiled wall, panting and silently begging. He knew that if he kissed my neck, I would lean back against him, demanding more. He turned off the water. "Not here." He led me back to the bedroom and we made up.

That Saturday he cancelled his meetings. He fed me and dressed me, making me giggle as he struggled to clasp my bra. Then he took me to Saks and bought me diamond earrings. I let him. No man had ever given me diamonds. No man had ever tied me up, either. So I let him. Then he asked me to help him pick out a new tie between a dark gray one, a dark gray one, and a dark gray with thin white stripes one. I suggested navy blue; he refused and we went to have lunch. He couldn't keep his hands off me all day. We'd never been so close to being exposed; I couldn't bring myself to care. We returned to his apartment and he was gentle like never before.

"I will try my best to earn your trust," he said, kissing me goodbye.

When I got home, there was a silver envelope with a purple ribbon waiting for me in my mailbox.

_Alice Brandon and Jasper Whitlock _

_together with our families_

_cordially request the honor of your presence _

_at our marriage_

_Saturday, the Sixteenth of July _

_Two thousand and eleven_

_at three-thirty in the afternoon_

_St. Luke's Episcopal Church_

_East Hampton, NY_

_Please reply by June 18._

* * *

***Takes a deep breath***

**First of all, thanks to Katie1824 for being honest and helping me muster up courage to do this.**

**And even though I'm really, _really_ nervous about it, I'm also very curious what you think. So please don't hesitate to tell me :)**

**I'm on Twitter: LuckyStar815. Come punch me in the face or just say hi. **


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm truly overwhelmed by the response to this story. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and especially experiences with me. I couldn't have explained things better than you do in your reviews. You are wonderful. **

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May would be largely uneventful if it wasn't for the weekend when we celebrated Dad's birthday. As usual, it was a family event; and as usual, I cooked because there was nothing Dad loved more than Roast Spring Lamb and homemade Tiramisu. After dinner, I helped Sue carry plates into the kitchen and then paused in the living room doorway, watching Seth playing tag with the twins. Their exhilaration was so infectious that I couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not sure who is the youngest in this family." Dad chuckled, placing a hand on my shoulder. I covered his hand with my own and gave it a light squeeze.

He sighed. "How I wish I could see your kids playing here."

I shuddered a little. "Dad, please."

"What?"

"You sound like Mom."

"Well, at least we still have something in common," he muttered.

"I'm seeing someone," I said after a pause.

"Yeah, Leah told me. Why haven't you brought him over? Am I that scary?"

"He's busy."

Dad caught my chin with his finger, forcing me to turn and look into his worried eyes. "He's not married, is he?"

"Jesus," I groaned. I wondered if that was Leah's idea or he had come to this conclusion on his own. "Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm just a stupid moron who had too much whiskey."

"It's okay." I buried my face in the flannel of his shirt and sighed. "I'm sorry I make you sad."

Dad patted my back. "Do you cook for him?" he asked suddenly.

I gave a laugh. "No."

"You should. Trust me, if you do, he will be at your feet. Listen to your old man."

"Come on, old man." I tugged him into the kitchen. "I think there is some Tiramisu left. Let's get to it before the others do."

Leah asked me to come with her to IKEA on Sunday morning—she was planning to redecorate the twins' room—so I stayed with Dad and Sue overnight. It had been years since I slept in my old bedroom and they had turned it into a guest room since. I was trying to fall asleep, but for some reason I couldn't. Maybe it was the uncomfortable mattress or the fact that I wasn't used to sleeping alone anymore—Mr. Puss usually kept me company—but I tossed and turned until the first light of day. Needless to say, in the morning I felt like shit.

After breakfast, Leah picked me up in her old Chevy. My hopes that our trip would be limited to visiting only the Children's department were shortly dashed. She dragged me through the entire store, stopping every now and then to look at some items and make notes as if she were in the museum. Finally, we reached our destination, and I tried my best not to be cranky while I helped her choose new duvet covers, rugs, and curtains.

She filled her yellow bag to the brim and I was just about to relax when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Bella! What a surprise!"

I turned and froze as though I saw a ghost. Well, in some sense, it was a ghost—a ghost of the bad relationships past, my ex-boyfriend Jared. He had a new haircut and wore a self-satisfied smirk, but that wasn't why I gaped. Next to him stood a petite girl with light brown hair and big blue eyes. She was pretty. And heavily pregnant.

"Hi, Jared," I said, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

"Fine, I'm fine, you?"

"Not bad." Murphy's law never failed me—if I was wearing old jeans and a hoodie, my hair was dirty, and I didn't bother with make-up, I was sure to bump into someone I hadn't seen for ages. Just my luck, this time it happened to be my ex, of all people.

"Hi, Jared." Leah's voice was laced with acid as she practically towered her six-foot frame over Jared and the poor girl who instantly tensed, looking even smaller under my sister's piercing gaze. "Will you introduce us?"

"Sure." He shifted from one foot to another, clearly intimidated by Leah. "This is Kim, my fiancée. Kim, this is Bella and Leah."

"Nice to meet you." Kim nervously fiddled with her engagement ring, preventing me from taking a closer look at the object.

"When is the happy day?" Leah asked with a wicked grin.

"May 30." Jared took Kim's hand. "We hope to move into our new house by then."

"New house?" I raised my brow.

"My parents bought us a house here in Jersey," Kim said with a shy smile.

"Alright, guys," Leah said. I could feel her patience drawing dangerously close to an end. "It was nice meeting you, but we're in a real hurry. Bye." With that, she turned on her heel and headed to the cafeteria.

"It was really nice meeting you, Kim," I said to the girl before turning to Jared—the person who shared one roof and one bed with me for two years, and now a complete stranger. "And good seeing you." My heart was suddenly unbearably heavy in my chest.

"Why does it feel like I've just been slapped in the face?" I asked, taking a small sip of lingonberry drink as we settled at a table.

Leah pricked a meatball on her plate with her fork so fiercely like it was her worst enemy. "Honestly? It doesn't feel like that for me at all. Look at them—they're pathetic."

"How far along is she, you think?"

She shrugged. "The end of the second trimester, I suppose."

I narrowed my eyes, calculating.

"Stop it," she suddenly snapped. "Is that what you want? A shotgun wedding? A dork for a husband? A house in Jersey? Oh, for fuck's sake!"

I sighed. "I don't know. It's just..."

"It's just you being stupid. Leaving this prick was the best decision you've ever made. You can do so much better. In fact, you _are_ doing so much better." She smiled at me reassuringly. "Nice earrings. If I buy stuff at IKEA, it doesn't mean I can't tell real diamonds. What was the occasion?"

I bit my lip. "Err... a small anniversary," I lied. The actual occasion which led to Edward buying me those earrings was still an unpleasant memory, though it strangely made us closer.

"Quite generous, isn't he?"

"He is." I smiled. The mere thought of him made me feel better. "He sends me flowers, too."

"I'm beginning to like this guy, after all." Leah chuckled. "Looks like you have finally found someone who can appreciate you. It's the most important thing. Congratulations!" She raised her glass and clinked it against mine. "The rest will come; just give it some time. Not too much time, though."

On the train on my way home, I was thinking about Edward. Our routine hadn't changed much, but it wasn't boring; it was comfortable. We were spending Friday nights together; we would have dinner and then breakfast the next morning, and sometimes he fed me. We would relax and watch TV, cuddling on the couch—who would have thought he was the one to cuddle? And we talked. I found out that he liked modern art, especially photography. What I had taken for photos of the sea in his study appeared to be the pictures of Lake Michigan taken by someone famous; he had paid an exorbitant price for them on eBay. Our physical relationship was getting better and better, as if my body had somehow synchronized with his, sharing the connection that didn't require words. And it wasn't just sex; it was something that transpired when our eyes met or our hands accidentally brushed against each other. I had never felt anything like that before. I wondered if he felt the same; for some reason, I wanted him to.

I mulled over Leah's words. I didn't want to entertain hope that would once again be shattered by the reality. I didn't want to believe in fairy tales only to get disappointed. I kept my expectations low. Even though Edward was gradually opening up for me, it still felt like he was surrounded with an invisible shield. More than once did I face cold glass walls that I couldn't penetrate, and I began to think I never would. So maybe we would never be more. But for now, it was enough.

Then I remembered what Dad had said, and it suddenly made perfect sense. I had been clueless about what to give Edward for his birthday, and now I had the idea: I could cook for him. My culinary talents would hardly impress someone who was a frequent guest at Cipriani, but I could bake him a cake. He had a sweet tooth—a cake would definitely make him happy.

So on the evening of June 20, I entered Edward's building, fancied up in the ice blue dress and new five inch stiletto sandals I paid 400 bucks for last Saturday. I was slightly nervous because I was going to surprise him—what if he hated surprises? When we talked on the phone earlier, he said he would be working late as usual, so I was hoping to find him home and alone.

"Good evening, Peter," I greeted the doorman.

"Good evening, Ms. Swan."

"Err... is Mr. Masen home?"

"Yes, Ms. Swan. Would you like me to call him?"

"No, thank you." I showed him a carton with the cake and smiled. "I want him to be surprised."

"Of course." He smiled back politely.

I turned and quickly headed to the elevator, suddenly impatient.

"Ms. Swan, take care please, the floors are wet," I heard his voice behind my back, but it was too late. My right foot slipped; I felt I was losing my balance and before I knew what was going on, I was lying face down on the marble floor.

_Shit, cake,_ was my only thought.

I was numb at first. Then, after a few seconds, the excruciating pain sharply hit my right ankle. It was so bad that I didn't feel the rest of my body at all.

"Ms. Swan, are you okay?" The doorman hurried to my side. "Can you get up on your own?"

I bit my lip and managed to sit on the floor, wincing in pain as I moved my feet. "My ankle... argh... I think I injured it."

"I'm so sorry." His face creased in concern. "I'll call Mr. Masen."

I suddenly realized I was still gripping the carton with the cake, the red ribbon gone awry. If I weren't crying from pain already, I would definitely start now that I saw it. No way would it have survived. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the bright yellow Caution Wet Floor sign. _God, what an idiot. _

"Mr. Masen, it's Peter," the doorman spoke on his phone. "Ms. Swan is here... Yes, I know she is, but she fell and hurt her ankle. Badly, I think. Okay."

Barely a few minutes later, an elevator chimed behind me and I heard the footsteps of someone running.

"God, Bella," he gasped, crouching down beside me. His face was pale like never before.

"Edward, I'm sorry," I whimpered. "I wanted to surprise you. I made a cake, here, I—"

"Fuck the cake. How badly are you hurt?"

"I slipped... my right ankle hurts like hell."

"I'm going to take a look. I'll be very careful, okay?"

I nodded, finally letting go of the cake and resting my palms on the floor. Very cautiously, he unfastened the strap of my sandal and slowly took it off; even the lightest touch caused me to jerk in pain. I noticed my ankle had already started swelling, which made me feel insufferably worse.

"Did you hear anything when you twisted it?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"I don't think it's broken, but the ligaments could possibly be torn. I'm taking you to a hospital," he said decisively and turned to the doorman. "Peter, please hail a taxi."

I don't know if it was his stern voice or the mentioning of a hospital or the possibility of having a severe injury, but I broke into sobs. He froze, and in another moment he was clasping me to his chest. "Bella, baby, don't be scared. You'll be fine, honey, sweetheart." He pressed his lips to the top of my head. "It will be okay."

I had no idea he knew all those terms of endearment. "I'm sorry," I whimpered into his white shirt.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked softly.

"It's your birthday, and I—"

"Don't be ridiculous." He pulled back and wiped my cheeks with his thumb, then moved to take off my other shoe and handed them both to me. "These are lovely, by the way." He winked, smiling.

"The taxi is waiting," the doorman interrupted us.

"Ready?" Edward's hand rested on the small of my back.

I gave him a slight nod, expecting him to make me stand on my uninjured foot, but instead he slid his other hand under my knees and pulled me up into his arms. My heart leapt in my chest. If I weren't writhing with pain, I would squeal with delight. He carried me outside and helped me to the back seat of a yellow car, climbing in beside me.

He held my hands during the short ride, rubbing my knuckles. When the car stopped by a hospital ER entrance, he carried me into the waiting area, muttering a curse because it was crowded. Luckily, someone gave up his seat to me.

"I'll be right back," Edward told me.

I watched him stroll to the front desk and talk to a receptionist. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket, made a short call, and returned to me.

"Hey." He smiled reassuringly. "It's okay. They'll attend to you soon."

I raised my brow. "But how—"

He shook his head, frowning at me. "Later."

Miraculously, less than half an hour after I had filled out the papers, a nurse approached us and he carried me into an examination room. He refused to leave and sat there on a chair in the corner, watching me closely while the calm and tired-looking doctor checked and prodded my ankle, my foot, and even my knee. After the X-ray, broken or fractured bones were thankfully ruled out and I was diagnosed with a grade 2 ankle sprain. I was given Advil, a compression wrap, and a pair of crutches and I stubbornly made my way out of the room on my own feet. Or, rather, foot. At the end of the hall I stopped, having run out of breath.

"You'll feel better when the painkillers kick in," he said, tenderly tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Thank you." I wanted to put my arms around him, but I was gripping the damn crutches. "So how did you manage to make them see me so fast?"

He chuckled. "I happen to know their chief of staff. Actually, the whole ER wing of this hospital has been my project."

"Oh." I felt a pang of conscience about all those people in the waiting area, but then decided the universe owed me a piece of luck after all.

"If you don't want me to carry you, I'm afraid you've got to man up and take the remaining few steps to a taxi. The faster we get home, the faster you can lie down and apply an ice pack, and we have yet to pick up your things."

My eyes flicked to his. "What do you mean, pick up my things?"

"We are going to your apartment so that you can change and pack the stuff you need. You're staying with me for a few days."

"What?" I gasped, panicking for some reason. "No. I can't. I can perfectly cope on my own—"

"Isabella, were you even listening to what the doctor had said?" he hissed. "Your ankle needs to heal properly or the joint may become unstable and it will get sprained over and over again. You need rest. And I know that you can cope on your own, but trust me, you don't want to." He pointed at my crutches. "It won't be as easy as you imagine."

"How do you know so freaking much about injuries, by the way?" I asked, annoyed with his condescension. "How did you know what to look for when you examined my ankle?"

"I told you I used to play baseball. I know quite a lot about torn ligaments and broken bones." He rested his hands on my shoulders. "This is why I can take good care of you. Trust me. Please."

I sighed. Arguing with Edward had always been pointless. "So my dad was right," I said. "He told me if I cook for a man, he will be at my feet. It worked better than I expected, really. You didn't even get to taste it."

He burst into a hearty laughter. "I bet it was a damn good cake. What kind was that?"

"A Lemon Meringue one."

"Mmmm..." He closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste. He'd make a real deal of an actor.

"I'll bake you another. I promise."

"I'm taking you at your word. Now let's go, please. Slowly. One step at a time." He led me outside, hailed a cab, and gave the driver my address. Above all, he had a good memory.

He was right, of course—functioning with crutches turned out to be rather tricky and painful. Climbing up the stairs to the second floor was so challenging that I was holding back the tears. When we finally reached the door of my apartment, I felt equally thankful to Edward for offering his help and guilty for making him change his plans because of me.

I opened the door to be met by yet another complication.

"Meow," the complication said, inspecting us warily from the kitchen doorway. Mr. Puss didn't like strangers.

I turned to Edward who was looking somewhat awkward, holding my shoes as if they were his prize possession. "So this is where I live." My voice was suddenly high.

He smiled, carefully placing my shoes on the shoe rack. "I see."

"Come on in." I motioned for him to enter the living room. "Let's rest for a moment."

He followed me and held my crutches as I took a seat; my own couch had never felt so comfortable. He settled beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and nuzzling into my hair. It was pure bliss even if the pain in my ankle hadn't subsided yet.

"I totally forgot about my cat," I said. "I can't leave him here alone."

He sighed. "Where do you usually leave him when you go on vacation?"

"I haven't had to—I've only owned him for a few months."

"Ask a neighbor, perhaps?"

"I don't really know anyone; most of them are tenants—they come and go." I pondered for a moment and a simple solution dawned on me. "Oh, I can ask Jacob."

He pulled back and stared at me, knitting his brow. "You mean, _that _Jacob?"

I took a deep breath. "I mean, my best, _gay _friend Jacob. He lives in the loft; we've known each other since we were four, for God's sake. I shouldn't have told you anything."

"I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm tired. Call him and let's go already."

Thankfully, Jake was home and agreed to take care of the cat. When he came to take my spare keys, Edward's stern look made me shiver. What the fuck was his issue?

Now that the cat problem was solved, I hobbled into my bedroom and changed into a t-shirt and yoga pants. Then I grabbed my sports bag and paused by the dresser, trying to decide what I might need for my few days' stay at Edward's place. I put the provocative items aside—sex was obviously off the menu and it wasn't like I planned to parade in front of him in my underwear in any case. I rolled my eyes at myself for even thinking about those things when I could barely stand at all and picked out my navy blue cotton pajamas.

On returning to the living room, I found him by the bookshelf, looking at the numerous photo frames I had there.

"Your grandparents?" He pointed at one of the photos, noticing me.

"Yes. This one was taken at their silver anniversary."

"Wow." He chuckled and pointed at another photo, the one of me and Alice at our graduation. "Who's this girl?"

"My friend Alice. I told you about her."

He nodded. "I met her once. She's Esme's niece. It's a small world."

I watched for any signs indicating that such coincidence bothered him; there weren't any and I felt deep relief. Maybe he even wouldn't be opposed to meet with Alice and Jasper someday.

"Nice pants." He smiled, closing the distance between us. "I take it you're ready to go."

"Uh-huh." I steeled myself for making one last effort.

"You'll feel better soon. I promise." He kissed me softly and carried me downstairs, ignoring my protests.

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**Evil to leave it here. I know :) But I promise to give you some answers in the next chapter. _Some._**

**I'm very happy to have Katie1824. I want to say it over and over again.**

**And there is nothing I love more than hearing from you. You, you, and you. So don't hesitate and drop me a line.**


	9. Chapter 9

About an hour later, I found myself in Edward's bed, resting my foot on the pillows he brought from the living room to keep my ankle above the level of my heart as prescribed by the doctor.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, helping me fix an ice pack.

I winced from the stinging cold. "No."

"Is there anything I can get you? Juice? Coke?"

"I'd like some tea if you have it."

He frowned. "No, I don't. But there is a 24-hour store on the 3rd—"

"Please don't bother. A glass of water will suffice. Thank you."

He went to the kitchen and returned with a tray containing a glass of sparkling water, a glass of milk, and a small plate with chocolate chip cookies. "I always have milk and cookies when I'm sick," he said with a serious expression. "They work magic."

I grinned. "I'm not sick, but thank you."

"You're welcome." He grinned back. "I have an important meeting tomorrow and I need to get ready for it now. It's late so I suggest you go to sleep. I'll leave the doors open; call me if you need anything."

I took my time enjoying his simple treat and then lay on my back, trying to find the most comfortable position. The pain reduced to the dull ache and no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to relax. It was a half past one when he returned, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him. I pretended to be asleep, but he caught me peeking at him when he started undressing. "Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't sleeping. What time do you get up?"

"Six thirty." Finally slipping under the sheets, he switched off the lights, then leaned to me and softly kissed my temple. "Goodnight, Isabella."

"Goodnight, Edward." I closed my eyes and breathed him in, reveling in his proximity. "And happy birthday again. I'm sorry it happened this way."

He chuckled. "At least it will be the one to remember. By the way, it just occurred to me I never asked you when your birthday is. I didn't miss it, did I?"

"Nope. It's September 13."

"And how old are you?"

I groaned.

"Oh come on," he drawled. "It's not fair. You know my age."

"Ugh!"

"Isabella, you're not that old!" He started laughing. "You don't look older than twenty-five."

"Liar."

"If you weren't injured, I would seriously tickle the shit out of you." His fingertips brushed against my side, indicating that he would do just that.

I flinched slightly and reflectively opened my eyes, blinking as I adjusted to the darkness. "Twenty-nine," I huffed in defeat, meeting his smirk. "What?"

He grinned wide. "I know."

I cocked an eyebrow. "How?"

"Your Facebook page. I was curious. Now sleep."

I wanted to wipe that grin off his face. Or kiss it away. I didn't know which. As if on cue, his tender lips touched mine. "Sleep," he whispered again.

I reached out and found his hand. He didn't withdraw it.

My alarm woke me up, but as I groped for my iPhone, it was silent. I stared at it, blinking, until there was a movement and a muffled groan behind me and the annoying sound stopped. He kissed my shoulder before rolling out of bed. "It's too early. Sleep."

I opened my eyes again at eight to find him standing in front of the mirror, tightening his slim black tie. He was ready to start the busy day—his suit sharp, his shirt crisp, his hair slicked back.

"Morning," I said.

"Morning." He smiled, bending over to kiss me. His scent was so fresh and clean. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. It only hurts if I move."

"This is why you need rest. I've left Advil here for you." He pointed at the bottle sitting on the nightstand next to the glass of water. "I'll pick up your prescriptions on my way home. I have some meetings I can't cancel but I'll be back as soon as I can."

I frowned. "Please don't change your plans because of me. I'll be fine, you don't need to—"

"Don't forget to apply an ice pack every hour," he cut me short with a grim look. "Breakfast is in the kitchen. There are take-out menus on the counter; order something for lunch. I gotta go. Call me should you need anything."

I reached for his perfectly knotted tie and straightened it. "Thank you. Good luck at your meetings."

He sighed and pressed his lips to mine again, careful as if he was afraid something neither of us was able to handle would transpire.

I stayed in bed for another hour, then called Mr. Banner and explained the situation. He panicked at first because there were some urgent tasks due this week, but I reassured him that I could use my laptop to cope with everything. I wasn't going to pretend I was sick; I wasn't sick—just partially immobilized.

Only as I got into the shower, did I fully appreciate staying at Edward's apartment. I didn't have a shower stall in my own bathroom—just a bathtub, and it was hard to imagine how I could have gotten into it on my own. I would probably slip again and break my neck. Standing on one foot was bad enough though, so I skipped washing my hair, quickly dried myself, and hobbled into the kitchen, dying to finally take a seat.

I smiled when I saw what he had left for me on the table. There was a familiar paper bag from the bakery where he usually bought us something for breakfast on Saturdays; a plate with cookies; three packs of tea—black, green, and some herbal mix; a bowl with different fruit; and a written instruction how to use the espresso machine. In the fridge I found milk and a glass of fresh orange juice. It wasn't surprising that he was so meticulous, but it still touched me deeply. The only person who fussed over me that much was my grandmother. I knew this was only temporary and I wouldn't get used to it, so I decided to relax and enjoy being pampered.

Finishing a cup of cappuccino and the world's biggest pain aux raisins, I grabbed an ice pack and made my way into the living room. My laptop sat on the coffee table; there was a Post-it note with the internet password stuck to it. He didn't miss a damn thing.

I made myself comfortable, feeling forever grateful to whoever invented a corner sofa. I turned on the TV and opened my laptop—I was good at multitasking. If not for the chore of getting an ice pack every hour, it would be quite perfect.

Edward called me at lunchtime, promising to get home around five. At half past four, I decided to do something about the dirty hair issue and went to the bathroom. I'd always believed that every problem had at least one solution. The sink faucet was too short, but I could try to stick my head under the shower spray or the bathtub faucet. I was considering which option would be less challenging when I heard the front door slam.

"Hey." He appeared in the doorway, holding his jacket in his hands. "God, it's so fucking hot outside." He loosened his tie and pulled it over his head before coming over to kiss me. "What's up?"

"Not much." I pointed at my crutches. "You were right—it isn't as easy as I imagined."

He grinned wide. "I'm always right, Isabella. I thought you'd know that by now. What problem are you trying to solve at the moment?"

I sighed. "It appears, I can't stand on one foot long enough to wash my hair. I need to exercise or something."

I expected him to laugh but he didn't; he traced his chin with his thumb, looking thoughtful. "Wait here," he said, turning on his heel to leave.

He returned barefoot, carrying a stool from the kitchen and a large stainless steel saucepan with a long handle. He put the stool down in front of the sink and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Sit here, facing me."

I snorted. "Ingenious, are you?"

"Maybe I've always wanted to play a barber shop." He laughed, filling the saucepan with water.

"Thank you," I said with my eyes closed as he gently massaged my scalp. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably break your neck, starve to death lying on the floor of your apartment, and end up eaten by your cat. By the way, I missed lunch today so I'm going to order the biggest steak in New York. That okay with you?"

"Sounds good." I smiled. I only had an apple for lunch and the mere mentioning of steak made my mouth water.

After dinner, I returned to the living room to finish with my assignment. Edward was busy with work, too—he put on his glasses and disappeared into the study, coming over every hour to bring me the damn ice pack. If before I had doubts whether it was true that he spent most of his time working, now they were dispelled; he stayed up long after I had gone to bed.

The next day went pretty much the same, except that I didn't need to apply the ice pack anymore and at noon a maid came to clean up the apartment. The maid was a thin middle-aged woman in a neat uniform. She smiled at me friendly, but for some reason I felt like an uninvited guest and tried my best to stay out of her way. However, the thought crossed my mind that it would be really, really nice to have someone who would clean my apartment for me.

Edward was home at seven thirty, cursing the heat, the traffic, and the sluggish drivers.

"Why don't you have a bath while I order some take-out?" I asked.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "Good idea."

"How about Chinese?"

"Chinese is fine, just something not too spicy." He got me the menu from the kitchen, kissed me swiftly, and retreated to the bathroom.

While waiting for the delivery, I started flipping TV channels until I came across _Gone with the Wind_. It was about thirty minutes in, but that didn't matter—it was one of my all times favorites and I knew most dialogues practically by heart.

"I'll get that," Edward called from the hall when the doorbell rang. He brought our food and two cups of green tea and settled next to me on the sofa. I tensed instantly, waiting for him to start criticizing my movie choice. To my surprise, he didn't. He didn't seem to pay attention to anything except his Chow Mein. Having finished, he rested his empty carton on the coffee table and leaned back against the pillows with a tired sigh.

"Do you want to watch something else?" I asked meekly, sipping my tea.

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Guys usually don't like chick flicks."

He raised his brow. "First, what kind of a host would that make me? And second, it's not a chick flick but a classical drama. Scarlett is a very interesting character. Despite her multiple flaws, she has many redeeming qualities. She's strong and courageous."

"She is," I agreed, feeling surreal. I'd never discussed Scarlett O'Hara with a man who wasn't gay before.

"And she can stand up to Rhett." He chuckled, leaning closer to me. His fingertips lightly traced my shoulder as he moved my hair and a thin strap of my camisole aside to place a soft but lingering kiss there.

"That's why I admire her," I whispered.

"Shhh. Don't move." He nuzzled into my neck, making me feel slightly light-headed. "I have to work but I can't make myself get up."

"Then don't," I said, hoping he would stay with me a little longer. "When is the deadline?"

"Monday."

"Why don't you trade today for Friday? Rest now and work on Friday night. I will probably go home after seeing the doctor anyway."

"We'll see to it. But that's a tempting plan."

"That's a good plan."

He laughed, his breath tickling my skin. "You're seriously fucking with my discipline, _missy_."

"I didn't ask to bring me here." I regretted the harsh words the very instant they came out.

"I didn't mean it like that." He looked up at me. "Let's watch the movie."

Fifteen minutes later, Rhett was asking Scarlett to get away with him from a battered Atlanta and Edward was sleeping peacefully on my shoulder. As I watched his calm expression I realized I had never really seen him sleeping before; he always woke up earlier than I did. He looked somewhat strangely fragile, like a child. Cautiously, unwilling to disturb him, I leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Grazie per avermi portata qui*," I whispered ever so softly. His long lashes fluttered, making my heart skip a beat, but he didn't open his eyes.

The next day, he called to check on me at lunch and then again at five. "I have news. We won the important contract."

"Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I'll be home in an hour or so and Emmett is coming with me for a couple of beers."

I held my breath. Emmett and I weren't even on a first name basis; he knew me as Ms. Swan, one of Mr. Banner's assistants and a dedicated professional. I began panicking. "Does he know about me?"

"I didn't tell him. Yet."

"Please don't," I stuttered. "I'll be in the bedroom."

"Whatever makes you comfortable." I heard him sigh. "He won't stay long; his wife is waiting for him at home."

"You don't have to apologize," I said. "It's your home, it's just..."

"I know. See you later."

As soon as we hung up, I went to the hall and took my shoes into the bedroom. Then I managed to carry my laptop from the living room, closed the door, and sat down on the bed, engaging myself in my remaining work assignments. An hour later, the front door opened and the voices came from the hall. I assumed they went to the kitchen—I heard the roars of Emmett McCarty's laughter. He was a nice guy and I liked him; I caught myself thinking I wouldn't be opposed to sit in Edward's kitchen next to them and laugh at whatever they found funny. I sighed and switched my attention back to work.

It wasn't long before the front door slammed and Edward appeared in the bedroom.

"Hi." He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me. "How are you?"

"Good."

"You should have come out and said hi to Emmett. He's a good friend of mine—we've known each other since college. He wouldn't tell anyone."

I pointed at my yoga pants. "I'm not exactly dressed up to meet with a _business partner_, Edward."

"True. I didn't think of that. Next time, then. When the Renaissance project is over." He winked.

"Yeah." I pulled him by the tie and kissed him. If everything went as planned, the project would be finished mid-August. I wondered how things would change between us after that.

"Would you like some beer?" he asked. When I nodded, he grinned wide and carried me into the kitchen, making me giggle.

"Is that how you usually spend time with your friends?" I asked, taking a sip of my Corona.

"Sometimes. Sometimes we go to the clubs."

"What kind of clubs?"

"Men's clubs." There were playful sparkles his eyes. "We smoke cigars. Watch striptease."

My face must have fallen because he burst out laughing. "I'm just kidding. All my friends are married. Their wives wouldn't let them even consider it."

"You're not married," I observed.

He shook his head. "I'm not gonna lie; I used to visit such places and quite often. But I grew tired of it. Maybe I'm just getting old. By the way, I think Emmett suspected something. He kept shooting glances at our cups." He waved at our cups sitting next to each other on the counter. "What I wouldn't give to see his face if he met you. I've never had anyone stay here on the weekdays before."

I gaped at him, speechless.

"Alright, I gotta work." He stood up, letting me know the confessions time was over.

I had an appointment with the doctor at six p.m. on Friday. He was satisfied with my progress, took away the crutches and prescribed me to wear a protective brace for another week and do some exercises.

We went to McDonalds to celebrate.

"You can stay with me tonight, you know," Edward said softly, picking at his French fries. "Unless you have other plans."

I shook my head. I wasn't looking forward to returning to my empty apartment, but I didn't want to abuse his hospitality, either. "You need to work."

"I want you to stay. You can read something while I'm working. I have a pretty good library." He flashed a cunning smile that I could never resist even if it hadn't reached his eyes.

And so I stayed. Having written a long email to my mom, I knocked gently on the study door.

"Come in." His eyes met mine for a second before returning to the display.

I entered the room and came up to the bookshelf. I hadn't paid much attention to his books before and was surprised to find the volumes of Nietzsche and Goethe standing next to the _Lord of the Rings_. The mouse wasn't clicking so I assumed he was watching me. Making the mental note to Google the German philosophers, I pulled out _The Fellowship of the Ring_.

"Good choice," he commented. "Except you'll have to call in sick for another week because you won't be able to put it down."

"Actually, I've read it before. But it was a long time ago." I turned, facing him.

"It was my favorite book when I was a kid. I used to imagine I was going with Frodo all the way to Mordor." There was a familiar shadow of sadness in his eyes as he recalled his childhood and I decided it would never be a better time to bring up the question I'd had for months.

"I want to ask you something." I gripped the leather-bound volume. "Why don't you have photos of your parents anywhere here?"

He exhaled loudly, took off his glasses, and rubbed his face. "Have a seat."

As I settled in the leather chair, he put his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his entwined fingers.

"I've never been close with my parents," he began slowly, his eyes wary. "They practiced authoritarian parenting, so there wasn't much nurturance. My father was a successful lawyer; he worked a lot and had very strict rules and expectations. I had to be the best at everything, from school to sports and even fucking piano. No sleepovers, no TV or video games, no junk food." He chuckled darkly. "My mother was a housewife; she walked on eggshells around him and never said a word against him. I hated him and despised her."

"I'm so sorry." My heart clenched as I imagined what a childhood he'd had. Both my parents, let alone my grandparents, allowed me almost anything. I'd never realized how lucky I was.

He pursed his lips. "Don't be. I've grown out of it. I'm rather thankful now because such upbringing made me strong, persistent, and disciplined."

"Do you visit them in Chicago?" I asked quietly.

He shook his head. "I haven't been to Chicago for a while. My father died from a heart attack a few years ago. I bought this apartment with the money I had inherited from him," he said in a deadpan voice. "My mother came to visit me last January. Even though she stayed at the hotel, it wasn't easy for me."

I remembered the gray-haired woman I saw in the museum with him back then—that mystery had an explanation now. "So you don't even go home for Christmas?"

"My home is here." His voice was suddenly cold as he picked up his glasses and put them back on, staring at the display again. The wall, intangible but thick, instantly fell between us. And even though there was not a single photograph of his parents, at that moment it felt like they were standing right here, in this very room.

A week later, I baked him another cake, opting for a chocolate one this time. He liked it a lot and licked Nutella from my fingers.

The routine was back.

* * *

*_**Grazie per avermi portata qui **_**means _Thank you for bringing me here _in Italian.**

**First of all, I want to thank everyone who takes their time to review this story. I read and appreciate every single comment. ****I wish I had time to reply to all. **Thank you. 

**And my endless thanks to Katie1824 for being an unbiased beta and an amazing friend. **


	10. Chapter 10

At the ass crack of dawn on July 16, Jacob and I were driving a rental VW Jetta to East Hampton where my other friends were going to marry this fine Saturday morning.

"Bells, remind me again why I'm doing this," Jake grumbled, his eyes flickering from the GPS device to the road and back.

"Because you are my best friend and wouldn't let me suffer this alone," I reasoned. "Because of free food, too."

"Food. Right." He glanced at me sideways, gripping the wheel. "What about this guy who looked at me like he wanted to rip my head off? Why isn't he your plus one, huh?"

"His name is Edward," I said dryly. "He has to work. He couldn't leave for the whole weekend."

The truth be told, I didn't even ask Edward to be my plus one—attending public events together was out of question, especially when the relatives of the bride were his colleagues. It felt as if we were seen out together, a bomb exploding inside the church would cause much less disastrous effect. Maybe I was exaggerating things, but it was better this way. One can never be _too _cautious. Besides, I needed someone to take care of Mr. Puss—and it was a miracle that he had agreed to. I left the cat with him last night and he had already called me three times since, worried because the little man refused to leave the carrier bag and spat at him.

"Is that so?" Jake didn't even try to hide sarcastic notes in his voice.

I didn't have a chance to give him a witty answer because my phone started ringing.

"Bella, I can't do it," Alice practically shouted into my ear.

"What?" I gasped.

"I'm having cold feet. I couldn't sleep all night. I feel like I'm making a huge mistake." Her voice trembled badly and she sniffled.

"No, you're not," I tried to sound as calm as possible, looking at the clock on the dash. Thank God, there was still a plenty of time. "Listen to me, Mary Alice. You will not do anything right now. Close the fucking door, order breakfast, and wait for me. I'll be there in an hour."

She sniffled again. "Okay."

I hung up and groaned. I was supposed and stay with Alice overnight but instead I selfishly decided to spend some time with Edward. Her anxiety attack was my fault—I shouldn't have left her alone on such a nerve-wrecking night, and now I had to do the damage control. _Pronto_.

"Pull to the curb," I commanded, grabbing the handle of the passenger door. "I'll drive." The possible ticket for speeding was the last thing that bothered me at that moment.

Luckily, we made it without incidents and soon I was knocking on the door of Alice's hotel room.

"I can't," she said again, weakly this time. I'd never seen her looking so scared before.

I took a deep breath, making her sit on the edge of the bed. "You and Jasper are meant to be together. And today your friends and family are coming over here to celebrate your union. What is wrong about that?"

She shook her head. "Last night as I lay in bed, I thought about you, Bella. How happy you've become now that you're single. How excited you are. How your eyes shine. You do what you want, enjoy your life to the fullest... there is nothing to hold you back—you can buy a ticket and fly away, anywhere. And then I thought that I've never felt that free in my entire life. When I get married, there will be the house, the garden, the mortgage, the kids... and I will never be able to do it. I will never be able to just drop everything and run away."

"So you decided to run away now?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded.

God, I was so fucked.

"Alice, look," I started, carefully choosing words. "It's only an illusion. I can't really run away. I have responsibilities. My work."

"You can call in sick," she said stubbornly. "And you are free to do whatever you want after work."

"Okay. But what if I told you I don't want to? What if I told you that you don't see the other side of the coin?"

She stared at me, unblinking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when I go home after work, I don't feel happy or excited. I feel sad and lonely. You only see me when I'm with you, Alice. Remember that movie you made me see, _Into the Wild*_?"

When she gave me a slight nod, still clearly slow on the uptake, I continued, "You can run away but it won't make you happy. Happiness is only real when shared," I said passionately. "What I wouldn't give to have someone waiting for me at home. Someone who would want to share his life with me. To have kids. To go on vacation together... trust me, traveling alone is no fun. There is someone who wants all that with you. He loves you so much, you love him, and now you want to throw it all away?"

"God, Bella." She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. "How could I be such an idiot?"

I sighed. "Have you had a shower?"

"No."

"What the fuck are you waiting for?"

Having delivered the almost runaway bride to the tenacious hands of a hair stylist and a make-up artist, I went to the room I shared with Jake to finally start getting ready. He had already discovered a bottle of champagne and we decided ten thirty in the morning was right about time we got down to it. I needed some relief from the nervous strain of the past few hours; I also needed some courage because I was a bridesmaid along with Alice's cousin Tanya.

Intentionally or not, Alice couldn't have chosen the bridesmaids looking so different in similar light purple dresses—Tanya was a blonde with stark blue eyes and a big breast, and given that I had to wear flats due to my recent injury, she was also more than a head taller. She was a really nice person, too; it was hard to believe such perfection existed, let alone was single. It made no sense to me at all. What the hell was wrong with men?

I was so busy anxiously watching Alice for any signs of a new panic attack as we made our way down the aisle that I missed the moment when people started crying. Only when Jasper put the ring on her shaking finger and the minister announced them man and wife, did I let myself take a breath. The deal was done; the boundaries between them existed no more. That called for another encounter with Veuve Clicquot.

The reception was held in the hotel patio, with white tents and long tables decorated with fragrant gardenias. Very chic. After the first round of toasts, I caught myself trying to calculate how much it all cost to my friends but stopped myself, realizing I was becoming a cynical bitch. Jake was too busy tasting canapés, so I asked Tanya to finally introduce me to her and Alice's relatives, Esme and Carlisle Cullen.

Alice's aunt, Esme, appeared to be an amiable, lively, and engaging woman who looked a bit like Julia Roberts. Her husband was just as friendly and possessed the unmistakable charm of a true English gentleman; he also reminded me of the doc from _Nurse Jackie_ whose name I had forgotten. I remembered their story Alice had told me—it happened in the early nineties in London when Esme, an art school student from New York, met Carlisle, a promising young architect. They fell in love from the first sight; he followed her back across the pond and they had been inseparable since. It would have been a picture of a perfect happiness if not for one thing: they couldn't have kids.

"Isabella!" Esme exclaimed, giving me a warm hug as I explained who I was. "I'm so glad to finally meet you! Edward was ecstatic about working with you."

My jaw dropped. "Um... Please, just Bella... and it was a real pleasure for me, too," I managed, turning to shake Carlisle's outstretched hand.

And then, as if I wasn't dumbfounded already, Tanya smiled her perfect Hollywood smile. "Oh, by the way, Esme. Tell Edward I said hi. And tell him to call me if he changes his mind."

I didn't realize I was gaping at her, undoubtedly rudely wide-eyed and speechless, until someone tugged my elbow.

"I need to talk to you for a second," Alice said sweetly. Too sweetly. And from the look on her face, I was in a big, _big_ trouble.

She dragged me inside the hotel and into the very room where I tried to calm her down just a few hours ago. Now the tables had turned; she practically pushed me to sit on the bed, looking down on me menacingly. "What's with you and Edward Masen?" she pressed. "Don't even try to deny it," she went on when I didn't reply. "It was a real pleasure, huh? And the way you stared at poor Tanya! If looks could kill, she would already be nothing but a pile of ashes on the ground, for fuck's sake."

I refused to reply or even meet her gaze for that matter.

"Bella, dear," she said in a softer voice, "I have warned you about him, haven't I? The guy's emotionally stunted. He's not good for you."

"You don't know him at all," I snarled. "You have absolutely no right to—"

"I don't," Alice agreed. "But I know what happened to Tanya. He told her he isn't interested in having a long-term relationship."

"Well good, because I'm not interested in having a relationship, either," I spat out bitterly. "You wanna know what's with me and Edward? Fine! We fuck. It's the best sex I've ever had and I am content with it."

"Are you?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, I am." I looked daggers at her.

"You're content now, great. But what about tomorrow?"

"Fuck tomorrow. I enjoy living in here-and-now. By the way, I read about it in the books you gave me."

"I don't believe you." Alice settled on the bed beside me. "I don't believe you," she said again. "I might not be a good shrink after all, but I can feel it when people are sincere and when they're not. I believed what you told me this morning. I saw your despair and your loneliness... or was it just because you were trying to convince me?"

I shook my head, focusing my vision on the pile of bags in front of me. The newlyweds were going on their honeymoon in a couple of hours.

"I'm confused," Alice said. "This is contradictory and I just can't figure it out. What is the truth, Bella? What you said in the morning or what you're telling me now?"

I kept staring at the bright orange Samsonite bags in front of me. Alice wasn't the only one confused. It somehow felt like I had reached a metaphorical impasse where I lost track of what was right and what was wrong in my own life.

"I don't know," I said. And that was the truth.

"God, Bella, I'm sorry." She embraced me with a deep sigh. "I'm so sorry I wasn't a good friend for you when you needed me. God, I missed out on such important things about you because I was so absorbed with all this shit." She waved around somewhat aimlessly. "We need to talk. I'll be back at the beginning of August and we'll figure it out together."

"I'm going on vacation next week," I reminded her.

"Good. Awesome. Staying away from all this fuckery will help you gain a new, fresh perspective. You need it."

The knock on the door interrupted us. "Allie, everything okay?" Jasper asked, peeking in.

"We're fine." She smiled at him, then stood up and took my hand. "Now let's go. I have spent a fucking fortune on this wedding; we'd better have fun to make it worth it!"

Two hours and a few more glasses of champagne later, Alice threw the bouquet to the excited crowd of single ladies. It was Tanya who caught it; I didn't even bother trying. After Alice and Jasper had finally cut the cake and driven away into the sunset, I retreated into my room and called Edward.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked. How I loved the sound of his voice on the phone, deep and soft, bracing me like a sea breeze, always making me weak at my knees and warm.

"Yeah," I breathed out. "Oh, I finally met Esme and Carlisle. They are so lovely."

"They are. And I'm sure they think the same of you."

I don't know what had gotten into me next—was it the fact that deep inside I had wanted him to be the one to introduce me to his friends, or was I just tired and quite drunk—but my brain failed to filter the words coming from my mouth. "There is also a girl named Tanya. She asked them to say hi to you," I blurted out.

I heard him drawing in a sharp breath.

"I'm just curious, you know," I said. "On what terms are you two?"

He paused before answering, making me tense. "Esme and Carlisle tried to set us up last fall," he finally said. "We met a few times."

"Did you have sex with her?" For some reason, I just couldn't shut the fuck up.

He sighed. "Isabella, you're drunk."

"I am, but I'm not _that _drunk."

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I didn't have sex with her," he said calmly. "Maybe I'm a bastard, but I'm not cruel. I knew that she wanted more and I didn't want to give her false hope. I'm always honest about my intentions."

"She's very pretty," I uttered bitterly.

"She is," he agreed. "But I didn't want to wake up with her scent on my pillow or babysit her cat."

A pang of guilt sobered me up instantly. "I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I didn't mean to pour it on you. It's just... it's been a hard day, with Alice having cold feet and all that jazz."

"Go to sleep, Isabella. Tomorrow is another day. Think about someone who's waiting here for you. He is missing you a lot."

"Did you feed him?" I smiled.

He chuckled. "Actually, I didn't mean the cat."

My pulse quickened and I closed my eyes, wishing I could just hop in a taxi and throw my arms around his neck. I even considered driving back now but both Jake and I had been drinking.

"You still there?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Looks like your cat is taking to me. He left his carrier and went to take a tour. So help me God if he decides to mark the territory."

I laughed. "If you get along well, I might let you have him while I'm on vacation."

"I'd rather you didn't leave."

"Come with me. My mom will be happy. She's a great cook, too," I started rambling, "and my stepfather is really cool—"

"Isabella, you _are_ drunk," he cut me short. "Go to bed. Now."

I sighed. "Okay. Sorry."

That night I couldn't sleep. This hotel must have had a bad aura about it. Also, Jake's snoring was too loud, yet not as loud as my own thoughts. I thought about Alice and Jasper, then about Esme and Carlisle, and then, inevitably, about Edward and myself. And the more I thought about us, the more uneasy I was becoming. It felt like I was missing out on something important but I couldn't grasp what exactly it was. Eventually, I gave up and rolled out of bed, dragging my feet into the bathroom. I filled the glass, gulped it down, and took a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The answer wasn't there, but then, all of a sudden, it occurred to me where I might find it.

I sank down on my knees on the cool tiled floor and folded my hands.

"Our Father who is in heaven," I whispered, "Hallowed be Your name..."

I repeated the Lord's Prayer over and over again until I felt strangely peaceful and calm. Then I scrambled myself from the floor and returned to bed, falling asleep in a second.

I woke up with the terrible hangover that only happens after drinking too much champagne. I was dying to get home as soon as possible but, unfortunately, Jake had a different idea. Yesterday he laid his eyes on one of Jasper's friends, and as they met by the outdoors pool this morning, it appeared the interest was mutual. They sat there in chaise lounges, soaking up the sun and talking, and I didn't have it in me to disturb them—what if this guy was _the one_ for him?

The sun hurt my eyes, so I waited for Jake in our room, watching TV behind the drawn curtains. Finally he returned, brimming with excitement about being asked out on a date, and we took off. The ride was long enough for me to sober up completely; I still didn't have the answer but at least the question was becoming much clearer.

It was late afternoon when we pulled to the curb at Edward's building.

He opened the door with a wide smile, taking my hands and pulling me inside. "Hi." His hands were cold—but then again, his whole apartment was always too cool for my liking, even if it was refreshing on a hot day like today.

"Hi." I let him kiss me but didn't reciprocate.

He stepped back, slightly tilting his head, his eyes searching mine, his hands not letting go. "What's wrong?"

His eyes were green or gray. It was impossible to tell. Everything about him was impossible to tell.

"What am I to you, Edward?" I asked quietly.

Green. Or gray. His stare was becoming even more intense and he withdrew his hands, but only to cup my face. I stood motionless like a statue, my heart not beating and my thoughts all forgotten at once. Then he kissed me again. Slowly. Delicately, as if afraid I would break. Giving and not expecting anything in return. His lips were taking away my worries, filling me with so much hope instead. I didn't know what exactly I was hoping for, but it didn't really matter. I just felt it—something—right there in his kiss.

When I gasped and finally replied, his fingers traveled down to my shoulders, bringing us closer. At that moment, the spell was broken by my phone.

"Shit," I pulled back and reached for the damned device in my denim shorts' pocket. "It's Jake. He's waiting downstairs. I gotta go."

"Don't." He caught my wrist. "Tell him to go home without you. I'll hail you a cab later."

I looked into his eyes, almost black now, and knew that as always I wouldn't be able to resist him. I quickly dismissed Jacob and even before I hung up, he swept me into his arms and made our way toward the bedroom. He didn't hurry as he put me down on the bed and undressed me, exploring my body with his cool hands and hot lips.

He didn't say anything out loud. Instead, he showed me. And maybe it was true that actions spoke louder than words.

I hoped so.

* * *

_***Into the Wild **_**is a 2007 American ****biographical ****drama movie ****directed by ****Sean Penn****. It is an adaptation of the 1996 non-fiction ****book of the same name ****by ****Jon Krakauer ****based on the travels of ****Christopher McCandless ****across ****North America ****and his life spent in the Alaskan wilderness in the early 1990s. You should see it if you haven't already—it's insanely beautiful and very thought-provoking.**

**Thank you, Katie1824, for holding my hand. **


	11. Chapter 11

Friday before my vacation, I was feeling strangely indisposed. My stomach was in knots since lunch, and at first I put it down to the pre-travel anxiety—I was flying out Sunday and I hadn't started packing yet. By the time I finished with work, I was quite nauseated; I hoped I wasn't coming down with anything. I even considered going straight home, but then decided I couldn't leave without a proper goodbye since I wouldn't be seeing Edward for two weeks.

He raised his brow, puzzled, when I pulled away from his welcome kiss.

"I'm not feeling well," I explained. "Just give me a few minutes. It will pass."

He nodded, motioning for me to follow him into the kitchen. "You need to eat something."

"Er... I'm not really hungry." I leaned on the countertop, watching him open the oven. He took out a large pan and put it on the table, removing the lid.

"The appetite comes with eating."

The very moment I caught the smell of fish, my stomach turned. Pressing my hand to my mouth, I fled to the bathroom.

When my body seemed to be finished revolting against me, I flushed the toilet and groaned. I would never, ever have Japanese food again. Not in the near future, anyway. I got up and stepped to the sink to rinse my mouth. When I raised my head, the reflection I saw in the mirror made me startle.

He stood behind me, tension oozing out of him at every pore. Good God, did he really need to witness me throwing up, like it wasn't bad enough I did it in his fancy bathroom?

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

He silently shook his head, but there was something so terribly off about his expression that my stomach clenched, bringing on another wave of nausea.

I spent half the night in the bathroom, afraid to leave the place in case I might get sick again. Not uttering a word, he brought me a glass of mineral water, then another one. I felt too ill and too tired to dwell on his weird behavior. When I could barely keep my eyes open, I brushed my teeth and went to bed. He wasn't there.

It was movement in the room that woke me in the morning. He was pacing up and down, the sound of his steps muted by the thick carpet. I felt infinitely better, albeit weak, but as I watched him through my half-opened eyelids, anxiety crept back in, making me cold in the stomach.

"Are you jogging in the room now?" I tried to alleviate the tension with a silly joke, but it was to no avail.

"How are you?" he asked in a deadpan voice, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Good. Contemplating a hot shower." I smiled. "Would you like to join me? I promise not to throw up on you."

He didn't return my smile.

"Isabella, look..." He sighed, finally taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "I need you to do something right now."

I gaped at him. He sighed again, reached to the nightstand, and placed something on the bed beside me.

I glanced at the small object and blinked. Twice. At first, I thought it was a thermometer. Then I felt like I had entered _The Twilight Zone_.

"W... wait," I said. "It's a..." For some reason, I couldn't say the word out loud.

"I bought you a pregnancy test."

"But it wasn't _morning_ sickness," I emphasized. "I clearly had food poisoning."

"Morning sickness doesn't necessarily happen in the mornings." His eyes pierced mine. "Rose, Emmett's wife, was pregnant twice. She was all over the place. Things happen."

He couldn't be serious. Or could he?

"You're late, aren't you?"

My heart missed a beat. Technically, I was two weeks late, but I switched from my regular pill to the mini-pill last month and my gyno had warned me I could possibly not bleed at all. It was a common side-effect.

"Okay," I said, wanting to get over with this craziness. Quickly. "I'll do it. No big deal."

I got up, not looking at him, grabbed the stick, and headed to the bathroom. He followed me and placed his foot on the threshold, preventing me from closing the door at his face.

"What now?" I snapped. "You're going to watch me pee?"

He didn't reply but his face visibly tensed.

"Not. Gonna. Happen." I pulled the door shut. This time, he let me.

It wasn't the first time I had to pee on a stick—who hadn't had, even if once? I washed my face and brushed my teeth before proceeding to the task at hand. Having done the deed, I put the stick on the vanity surface and opened the bathroom door. He stood, rigid, right where I had left him.

"It takes ten minutes," I mumbled, stepping back to take a seat on the toilet.

He nodded, taking a glance at his watch before his hand landed on the door frame with a loud smack.

I knew it wasn't possible. I _knew_ that. We were using condoms each time we had sex and I was on the freaking pill—something he didn't know about—but his panic was contagious. With every passing second, I was going into a tailspin. _Things happen__ed__._ I remembered that no contraception method offered a 100% guarantee and _what ifs_ started swirling in my head. What would my parents say? What would my boss say? What would Alice say? Was I ready to have a baby? Was Edward ready?

And as I fixed my gaze on his face, usually still and perfect as if carved from marble and now contorted like he was in pain, the answer was there, loud and clear.

He looked at his watch. "Time." He didn't look at me.

My hands trembling, I reached for the pee stick. I closed my eyes and held my breath before taking a look.

"Negative." I shoved the stick at him and made my way out of the bathroom. I threw my clothes on the bed and began to change, gasping. I needed to leave. The air in the room was probably cool as usual, but it felt hot; my lungs were burning. I just couldn't stand it any longer.

He stood behind me in the doorway. I didn't see him but I could feel him watching me. I was praying he would keep silent because I didn't know what I'd do if he said something right now.

And of course, he had to.

"There is a two-percent possibility of failure when using condoms." His voice was smooth as it normally had been. "I've done a research."

_Failure._

I turned abruptly, meeting his eyes. "I'm on the pill," I spat out, grabbed my purse, and brushed past him to the hall. What on earth had gotten me so worked up?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Now he was accusing me. "I'm supposed to know such things!"

"Because I didn't want to have unprotected sex with you." The words were still ringing in my ears when their harsh implication dawned on me. I pressed my hand to my mouth.

His eyes widened; his hand raised as if of its own volition and then fell back to his side. He made a weird choking sound, turned on his heel, and slammed the study door shut behind him.

"Shit," I groaned. I didn't mean it that way—to tell the truth, I just wasn't sure I wanted the intimacy unprotected sex would provide. I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to get rid of the last barrier and take him, all of him... I was afraid it would become too much for our non-relationship and I'd never be able to let him go afterward. He deserved honesty, but how could I explain all that? My only feeble excuse was that he had never brought the subject up, so technically I wasn't lying. I had been on the pill for years and it seemed sensible to use condoms when I first jumped into his bed—he had been a stranger, after all. There was nothing wrong with a girl wanting to have control over her own body.

As I returned home, I tried not to think about what had happened. Not that I was in the right frame of mind to analyze it anyway—I was still tired and weak from last night and had too many things to not forget to pack. I hated packing but today the distraction was more than welcome. I even turned on the radio to tune out the remaining thoughts.

On the Sunday afternoon, I left my cat with Jake and went downstairs to make sure there were no unpaid bills left in my mailbox. To my surprise, inside I found a manila envelope. It wasn't signed and I shrugged, tearing it open.

There were some papers. As I leafed through them, I didn't understand at first. Then I did. They were Edward's STI tests results.

Alice was right—I needed to gain a fresh perspective. Badly so.

…

My mother and her husband Salvatore owned a small villa in the quiet upscale residential area of Rome. She taught English at a local school, so she was on summer vacation and we could finally spend some quality time together.

For a few first days, it was so easy not to think about my life back home, what with sleeping late, making breakfast, eating, talking with Mom, making lunch, eating, napping, making dinner, eating, and drinking in the beauty of the eternal city in the evening when the heat wasn't too intense. I was coming home so tired that I fell asleep the very second my head hit the pillow. Mom wasn't bringing up the boyfriend issue again, to which I was grateful.

It appeared I had misjudged her.

"I want you to meet someone," she said at dinner on Thursday.

I stopped chewing at looked up at her.

"His name is Alessandro. He's the son of one of our parishioners. A very nice young man."

For a second, my eyes flickered to Sal's. He was hiding a smile.

"Why would I want to meet him?" I asked.

"Well." Mom put her fork down and poured me some more wine. "You haven't mentioned anyone, _cara mia_. I dare to assume your relationship status hasn't changed since my last visit. Am I wrong?"

The tension, forgotten since I had stepped on the Roman ground, washed over me, making my muscles clench all over. I suddenly lost my appetite.

"No," I managed. She wasn't wrong in the slightest. My status hadn't changed a bit.

"He's from Montepulciano," Mom continued, more excitedly now. "He owns vineyards there, and he's coming here on business tomorrow. His mother told him about you; he's looking forward to meeting you. He's in dire need of a wife."

I groaned internally. "How exactly _young_ is he?"

"Forty-two. But don't let the age difference put you off." She reached out and took Salvatore's hand, smiling at him. "It works just fine, trust me."

Sal winked.

I snorted. "Es tu, Brute?"

He shrugged. "I must agree with your mother. Alessandro is a nice guy. Good-looking, too."

"Come on, Bella," Mom said. "What's there to think about? It's not like I'm asking you to go to bed with him, for God's sake. It's just a friendly dinner."

"Mom." I rolled my eyes at her.

"What? How are you going to find your soulmate if you refuse to meet new people?"

I cast my eyes down. Leaving my agreement with Edward aside, I simply hated blind dates—they usually felt like job interviews. But then again, I could practice my Italian. I didn't have a slightest idea how to get out of this setup, anyway.

"Okay. Fine," I gave up.

Mom's face lit up and she grabbed her phone. "I'm calling Carla."

I stayed up late that night. I read. I watched TV. I checked Facebook. Anything to keep me from thinking. At three o'clock, I kneeled on the floor and whispered the Lord's Prayer before going to bed. At four, I was still wide awake.

It wasn't my forthcoming meeting with Alessandro what made me restless, though. That didn't matter to me—I was doing it solely for my mother's sake. It was Edward that my mind was tightly wrapped about.

The way he reacted last week... as if he was scared to death... as if something disastrous had happened… Unplanned pregnancy wasn't my idea of fun, either, but no matter how shocking it would be, I wouldn't get completely freaked out if I had found out I was carrying _his_ child in my womb. Come think of it, I was slightly disappointed _not _to be pregnant. I had always wanted a family. And kids. That was making all the difference. What were the odds that he would change his attitude? What were the odds that one day he would want a family and kids? With me? And the most important question, how long should I wait to find out? Ten years? Five? Or would he get bored with me sooner than that?

My head was pounding. At five, I went to the kitchen and found a pack of painkillers. At six, I was finally asleep.

I didn't know what I had expected, but Alessandro had appeared to be anything but that. The first thing that surprised me was a black Porsche parked at our gate. A tall, tanned guy with short dark spiky hair stood by the passenger door; he grinned wide, taking off his Ray-Bans as he saw me. He didn't look older than thirty-five. "You must be Bella," he said in English. So my mother had showed him my photo.

"Yup," I said. "That's me."

"Nice to meet you." He held out his hand. No kissing on both cheeks—was he really Italian?

"Nice car," I said in Italian once I got inside.

"Thank you." He stepped on the accelerator and the car started off. "I like to drive fast when I go on a highway."

And just like that, we started talking. It was surprisingly easy. Everything about Alessandro was easy. We laughed at our parents who set us up. He told me about his family, remembering funny stuff about every single relative. He told me about his business and about his former girlfriends, all in twenty minutes it took us to get to the restaurant. By the time our main course was served, my face hurt from too much laughing.

"I have to confess," he said, his expression now serious. "I'm ready to settle down and start my own family."

His phone interrupted him; he apologized and went to the restaurant patio. I watched him talking passionately and then, all of a sudden, I had a sort of vision. I saw myself standing on a sunlit porch of a lovely house surrounded by cypresses. I saw two kids, a boy and a girl with dark curls, playing in the garden. I blinked, startled. I could have everything I had ever wanted. I could marry Alessandro and move to Italy. I could find a job as an interpreter or teach kids English like my mother. She and Salvatore could be just a car ride away. There could never be winter and cold for me again.

I could do it. It would have to be my own choice.

That very second, I heard the familiar ringtone—Marvin Gaye's _Lets Get It On_. My heart sank.

"Yes," I gasped into my phone.

"Isabella." He sounded like he was standing right next to me, breathing hot air into my ear. I shivered.

"Hi," I said, trying with all I had in me to appear nonchalant. "How are you?"

"I'm not good. It's Friday and I'm not seeing you tonight. I'm missing you here."

I sucked in a breath, collecting my thoughts. What had happened to the resolved Bella I had been just a minute ago? I could do it—I could tell him I wanted to quit and we would be done. Finished. There were no _us_ to begin with. _Say it,_ I ordered myself. _Just fucking say it already. _

"Did you get the mail I left for you last Saturday?" he asked suddenly, pulling me out of my internal struggle.

"Y—yes." My voice trembled.

"I know my experience is probably not something to be proud of. But I'm clean. I want you to know that. I want you to trust me."

"It's—it's not that."

"What do you mean?" He seemed puzzled.

"I didn't mean to offend you. It's just—I'm not ready for that yet." Or ever. _Say it_, my resolved side moaned breathlessly.

"It's okay," he said calmly. "I'm not going to push you or anything. I can wait until you're ready."

Alessandro returned to our table then. "Hold on," I said on the phone. I muttered an apology and escaped to the patio. "Sorry. I had to find a secluded place."

"Where are you?" Edward asked.

"I'm having dinner."

"Alone?"

And I realized it was my last chance. I could tell him the truth and that would be it. I could.

But I _couldn't_.

"Yes," I lied.

"I'm going to have dinner on my own tonight, too," he said, and I believed him. He might have had other flaws, but he had always been honest with me. "I miss you. Come back to me, Isabella."

There was so much longing in his voice that my resolve had finally crumbled into dust.

"I miss you too," I whispered, my eyes teary. I hated myself for being weak and I hated him for having so much power over me.

"Will you do something for me? Please," he breathed out.

"Yes." _Anything. _

"I want you to remember that no matter where you are, your Friday nights are mine. Go home, lie down in your bed and touch yourself. Touch yourself like it's me. Think of me. Scream my name when you come," he said softly, but his tone was commanding. He owned me, body and soul, and he knew that. "Will you do it for me, Isabella?"

"Yes," I exhaled.

"So do it. Now."

My hands were trembling as I returned to the table. Alessandro looked at me in concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I'd like to go home."

"What has got you upset? You were so careless and happy just a few minutes ago."

"It's my..." I didn't know how to finish the sentence. Who were Edward and I to each other? "Nevermind," I muttered.

He nodded and asked for a check. If he was disappointed, he did a good job of hiding it. I demanded on going Dutch—I couldn't let Alessandro pay for me, even though he tried to insist. He was so fucking perfect and I wanted someone else.

Mom and Sal weren't home when I returned. I went straight to my room, took a shower, and then fulfilled the promise I made to Edward.

And inexplicably, I actually felt better afterward. I slept tight and when I woke up in the morning, I felt strangely calm, like I'd been on this vacation forever. For the first time in my life, I wanted it to be over already, but since I would have to stay in Rome for another week, I decided to work on my sun tan. Mom was glad to join me, so we headed to the beach. She was curious about how yesterday's date with Alessandro went. I told her he was very nice and we would keep contact via email. I was becoming a professional liar—a little more practice and I could try my luck at poker.

The remaining days passed quickly—time always runs faster when you're on vacation. Edward called me every day; our conversations were very light yet charged with loaded sexual tension.

Wednesday afternoon, Mom left for her weekly parish meeting. To my pleasant surprise, Sal returned home early. When I entered the living room to ask him what he'd like for dinner, he was strumming Albinoni's _Adagio _on his guitar. I paused in the doorway and listened. The sounds of music were interrupted by his dry smoker's cough. He had been coughing a lot recently.

He stopped abruptly and looked up at me, smiling kindly. "I thought we could go out for dinner tonight," he suggested before I could ask, as if he's read my mind. It had always been just like that with Sal.

"Sounds perfect." I nodded.

We drove his scooter to the city center and found a table in one of the cafes on Piazza Navona, overlooking the Fountain of Four Rivers. My gaze fell on a young couple kissing passionately, leaning against the fountain railing. People were always kissing in Rome.

"You're missing him," Sal said all of a sudden.

My eyes shot up to his and my jaw slightly dropped. "What are you talking about?"

He lit a cigarette. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you giggle and it made me curious. Then I regretted understanding English."

I had probably turned red as beet from head to toes. "Sorry."

He laughed, coughing. "Why do you keep him a secret from your mother?"

"It's complicated." I frowned, taking a large sip of white wine. It was Vermentino and I couldn't help but remember drinking it in Milan and later, when I first visited Edward's apartment.

Thankfully, Sal interrupted that train of thought. "Do you need help disentangling it?" he asked.

Yes, I needed help. I needed help but I couldn't ask my mom or dad. I couldn't ask Leah. I couldn't ask Alice and most definitely, I couldn't ask Jake. And for some unfathomable reason, I realized I _could_ ask my stepfather. I trusted him to be open-minded and not judgmental. I trusted him to keep my secret like he had when I was fourteen and broke Mom's favorite vase. He took the blame then and she had never found out. And whenever I fought with Mom, he always took my side.

So I opened my mouth and words came spilling out. I told him everything from the very beginning—how I first saw Edward at the coffee shop, how we became involved in our work project, how Edward asked me out, and how we made an agreement. I told him about playing Twister and even about where my diamond earrings had come from. I told him about injuring my ankle and about Edward's walls and, finally, about our last weekend. When a waiter brought our food, I barely registered what it was.

"I don't know what to do," I concluded. "I want more. Much more. But we have this agreement. I thought I made a good job of negotiating its terms. What a fool!"

"Don't blame yourself," Sal said softly. "People change. You have changed since then. Hasn't it occurred to you that he might have as well?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I don't know him at all and it's killing me."

He lit another cigarette. "Let me tell you something. Your mother and I... do you know why we don't have children?"

I shook my head again. Actually, I had never wondered why, given that they had me. Or, technically, Mom had me.

"It's quite silly." He chuckled but his eyes were sad. "I assumed she didn't want to have kids and she assumed the same about me. When we had finally brought up this subject, it was too late."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I tried to remember how old he was... sixty? Sixty- one? He was in an impressively good shape, minus the coughing.

"Don't be. You've always been my child," he said. "What I'm trying to say is, don't make the same mistake. Don't be afraid to take the first step. If you love him, tell him what you want before it's too late."

And that one word hit me like a thousand bricks.

_Love._

I love Edward.

I repeated it to myself, as if testing it. _I love Edward_. It didn't sound wrong; just the opposite, it made me all giddy. I wanted so say it over and over again.

I called him as soon as my plane landed in New York. It was two on the Friday afternoon and I was hoping I didn't interrupt his meeting or something else equally important.

"Hey," he answered on the first ring. First! Had he been waiting for me to land? "Welcome home, baby."

My heart increased its rate; I had never, ever been so happy to be home.

"I can't wait to see you," I whispered.

"Me, too." He laughed softly. "Me, too. I have some things to finish here, but I'll leave the office as soon as I can. Could you go to my place and wait for me there? The doorman will let you in."

I smiled wide. "Sure." He was leaving work early because of me—I felt like I had won an Olympic race, no less.

When the cab finally made it to his apartment building, weariness overcame me. I took a shower, reveling in his scent—I had never noticed before how intense it was in the bathroom—and then decided to catch some sleep. I dropped the towel by the bed and slipped under the sheets, not bothering to unpack and put anything on. The bed smelled like him, too, and I fell into slumber with a goofy smile on my face.

I woke up to the feel of his lips on my neck. Still teetering between dream and reality, I shifted to find him lying next to me. Real and naked.

"I'm sorry for waking you but I couldn't just stand and watch. I'm not that strong," he murmured against my skin.

"I'm glad you did." My hand roamed over his chest, eager to touch him.

He stirred, hovering over me, and his burning eyes finally met mine. "I'm glad you came back to me."

Nobody had ever looked at me with such rapt admiration. None of my former boyfriends had. Alessandro didn't look at me this way.

Maybe Edward didn't want wife and kids. But he wanted _me_.

And just like that, I knew I couldn't tell him it wasn't enough. Because right now, it was. Because I was a coward, terrified to lose this—to lose him. I threw my arms around his neck instead. And as he replied to my violent embrace, whispering sweet words and soft kisses which grew into moans and bites, I wished he'd never, ever let me go.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for your support and kind words. **

**Katie1824, I love you. In all honesty. **


	12. Chapter 12

Summer was reaching its end when I got the e-mail I had been anticipating for so long. The Renaissance hotels project was over. The renovated hotel would be opened on August 26, right in time to host the honorable guests of the Venice Film Festival.

To celebrate the successful completion of the project, our company had planned an event on the same day. Mr. Aro Rossi himself would pay us a visit a few days before and I would have to translate for him, so it was going to be a busy like hell week for me. On top of it all, Edward was invited to the party, and even though technically we wouldn't go together, I was still jittery about it.

A weekend prior to the event, I asked Alice to help me choose an appropriate outfit. She inspected my closet, apparently searching for something specific that wasn't there, and then we went shopping. I tried at least ten different dresses before she found what she was looking for—an emerald green strapless chiffon gown that fell almost to the floor. With my shoulders and my back exposed, I felt somewhat naked.

"Perfect," Alice said with a satisfied grin, looking at my reflection in the dressing room mirror.

"I think it's a bit too much." I ran my hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the soft material.

"It's not _too much_. It's _bold_."

"It looks like a prom dress," I made a point.

"Did you have a five hundred bucks prom dress?" She literally rolled her eyes.

"It's green," I tried to object.

"So what? You look like Scarlett O'Hara. And this year everyone is wearing green. Angie was wearing green for the Golden Globes. Pippa Middleton was wearing green for the Royal Wedding reception, for crying out loud! Green is the new red."

"Who the fuck is Pippa Middleton?"

"What?" Alice exclaimed. "Have you been living under a rock?"

I sighed. "How about something black? You can never go wrong with a little black dress."

"Yeah, if you want to blend in with the crowd. Trust me, you don't want that." She gave me a stern look. "You have contributed to that project. It's your party and you must shine like a fucking star. He shouldn't be able to take his eyes off you all night."

I cast my eyes down. On returning from her honeymoon, Alice had pressed me to tell her more about Edward. I did but spared her some details including my recent revelation that I loved him. When she had finally acknowledged the fact that I wasn't going to terminate whatever it was we were having, she became determined to fix Edward and his attitude.

"I want him to be mad about you, Bella," she said resolutely. "And if you wear this dress, he's a goner."

So I gave up. She was a shrink, after all. At least she had approved of my shoes.

Mr. Rossi arrived on Tuesday night. I met him at the airport and accompanied him in a limo to the hotel. He was strangely taciturn for an Italian; _buon giorno_ and _grazie_ was all he managed during the ride. When our managers greeted him in our office Wednesday morning, he didn't look as excited as they were; however, when our CEO was making a moving speech about a long-term agreement that we were now sure to sign, his eyes suddenly lit up.

"I'm looking forward to meeting with Mr. Masen," he said calmly.

I choked on my water. "Sorry," I squeaked, leafing through the schedule of Mr. Rossi's visit. I read it yesterday; there were lunches and dinners and museums and even opera. Edward wasn't there.

"We had to change the schedule last night," Mr. Banner mouthed into my ear. "He insisted on meeting with the architect, so we're heading to Cullen Architecture after lunch."

It dawned on me then that Edward knew. He knew and he didn't tell me. Why wouldn't he? I felt cold inside and my mind started racing. Good for my sanity, I was too busy interpreting the actual meeting to think about something else. During the break, I sneaked into the bathroom and called him. He didn't answer—he probably was at some meeting, too. I told myself to cool down a bit. I had no reason whatsoever to freak out, right?

I'd never been to Edward's office before, so above all I was very curious. Cullen Architecture appeared to be located on the second floor of an art gallery in SoHo. It was quite funny that I walked past it so many times, completely unaware.

The moment we entered the reception area, I was fascinated by the interior design. It was modern and simple, reminding me of Edward's apartment, but unlike his place, it was so cozy, so warm. Light beige walls were decorated with framed drawings and layouts. There were models of buildings and flowers in elegant vases; an oversized clock was hanging above the inviting-looking brown leather sofa.

It was Esme and Carlisle who greeted us. To my surprise, Esme spoke almost perfect Italian, evoking a condensing smile on Mr. Rossi's face. I wondered why Alice never told me about it, though we didn't discuss her relatives much.

"Bella, it's so nice to see you again!" Esme reached out and gently squeezed my hand. "Actually, Carlisle told your bosses I could translate but I guess they don't trust me," she whispered into my ear while Mr. Banner exchanged greetings with Carlisle.

"It's a company policy," I said quietly. "They don't trust anyone; it's not just you."

When we all entered the light and spacious conference room, he was standing there at the faraway end of a long mahogany table. His eyes widened when he saw me; he looked...surprised? His thumbnail scratched my palm as we shook hands. "Isabella."

"Edward." I looked into his eyes, almost startled by the thickness of the wall between us. How the hell did he do that?

We took our seats. After a few introductory words by Mr. Banner, Carlisle spoke briefly about the history of their firm. Mr. Rossi smiled and nodded; his mood visibly improved as soon as he entered the Cullen Architecture office. When Carlisle finished, I felt Mr. Banner nervously shifting in his seat beside me.

"I came here to thank you personally," Mr. Rossi said in Italian, his gaze instantly fixed on Edward. "I believe this is a beginning of our beautiful long-term partnership. I want you to be a part of our next project. There will be no bidding."

"Bella," Mr. Banner hissed, and I realized I had frozen on the spot. When I translated his line and the following description of the upcoming project, Mr. Rossi opened his notebook, tore a piece of paper, wrote something, folded it, and pushed it across the table toward Carlisle.

Carlisle's brow slightly knit and he pushed the paper to Edward, whose expression remained perfectly unruffled. As the silence reigned in the room, I could swear I saw the shape of hope that flew with a sigh into the window. He would accept this undoubtedly generous proposal and this partnership would remain forever. _He would have to remain a secret forever. They would never know about us. Nobody would. _

"You don't have to answer now," Mr. Banner said. "It can wait until Friday. Take your time to consider."

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Esme asked in Italian.

When Mr. Rossi gave a nod, I excused myself and asked where the bathroom was.

I locked myself in the small room, taking deep calming breaths. A few moments later, there was a quiet knock. "Open the door."

When I didn't move, he knocked again. "Open or I swear I'll break it."

I unlatched the bolt and stepped aside, facing the wall. He locked the door behind him and his cold hand rested on the nape of my neck, making me flinch. "Just fucking don't," he whispered.

My nails dug into my palms. The pain was strangely soothing.

"I didn't know you were coming over here today," he said softly, his finger traveling down my spine, vertebra by vertebra. "Esme was supposed to translate."

I stopped breathing.

"Get yourself together. You're a professional, so act like one." His hands found mine, unclenching my tight fists. "Look at me, Isabella."

He was right. I was a professional. And now I was at work. There was no place for the emotions.

I turned slowly, afraid to face the glass wall again. But it wasn't there. He was staring into my eyes, into my soul. The world outside faded into a blur; at this moment, his face was all I could see. He was so fucking beautiful.

And he would never be mine.

. . .

Friday night, I was late to the party. I was sitting in the cab caught in a traffic jam, thinking that maybe I should just go home instead. I had no reason to celebrate—even if technically the project was over, the partnership was not and would not be. I thought back to the spring when it was all right with me, when everything seemed perfect, and wondered what the heck had changed since that.

_I love Edward—that's what. _

I was still wrapping my head around this fact. For some reason, every time I wanted to say the words out loud, I couldn't do it, as though someone invisible pressed their hand to my mouth. I had said that before to other people in my life and it had always been easy, perhaps because I didn't really mean it. When it came to Edward, I was terrified, scared to death that he wouldn't say them back. It seemed that I wouldn't survive it. That the world would end. Whoever said that love made you stronger was delusional—if anything, it only made you vulnerable and weak at your knees.

When I finally entered The Waldorf Towers, the official part was over already, so I proceeded straight to a banquet room, grabbing a flute of champagne on my way. I greeted my co-workers, wondering how long it was polite to socialize before I could make my escape and crawl into some hole. Preferably my own bed.

"Bella, where have you been? We've missed you." Mr. Banner approached me. My God, was he drunk. That was totally unexpected.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Traffic failed me."

"You're not sorry, are you?" A familiar voice behind me made me shiver. It always had.

I turned to find him wearing a sly grin. "Mr. Banner, may I steal your best Italian specialist for a dance?"

"Anything for you, Edward. You know that, right?" Mr. Banner awkwardly clapped him on the shoulder.

"I most certainly do." Edward chuckled, resting his hand on the small of my back. "Let's go."

"Hasn't it occurred to you to ask me if I wanted to dance?" I muttered as we were making our way to the dance floor.

"No," he said with amusement. "Why would I ask the question I know the answer to?"

He knew me, of course. I wanted to dance with him even if it really wouldn't hurt to ask.

He took my right hand in his left and we started moving to the sounds of a soft jazz number. He was leading me confidently, keeping the distance between us _comme il faut _for everyone to see, and yet his fingers were drawing intimate circles on the small of my back. It was so easy dancing with him—our bodies were in perfect tune with each other, as if anticipating every movement, every breath.

"Congratulations," I said, finally mustering up courage to look into his eyes. "It was a huge success."

He smiled. "Thank you. Seeing the actual result is the best thing about my work. I'd love to go to Venice someday and see what it looks like in reality, not in the picture."

"Oh, I'm sure the opportunity will present itself now that you have accepted Mr. Rossi's proposal." I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice—I had no right to be upset; I had to be happy that he was getting such good offers—but I wasn't sure it worked.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "What makes you think I have?"

I missed a step; if he weren't holding me tight, I might have fallen. "Huh?"

He chuckled. "You're so funny when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." _Yet._ "Spill it, Masen."

"Ouch." He winced. "Stop clasping my shoulder, will you? It hurts."

"Sorry." I didn't realize I was gripping onto him.

"That's better. I did not accept his proposal," he said softly.

"What? Why?" I breathed out, still finding it hard to believe.

"First, because I'm not exactly interested in reconstruction. Carlisle wanted to do it, but it would seem he wasn't the one Rossi was after." A complacent smile appeared on his face. "And second, this partnership has been causing certain discomfort between us. I don't like that. I don't want you to feel like you're doing something wrong."

My heart started beating crazy staccato in my chest. "You're not kidding me, are you?"

"Isabella, slow down." His thumb stroked my hand soothingly. "It's over. Really over this time. I'm out of your line of business. Enjoy the evening—it's your party. By the way, you look wonderful. You always do, but tonight you're exceptionally stunning."

"Thank you." I smiled, finally letting myself loosen up a bit. "You're not too bad yourself, Mr. Smith. Or is it Mr. Black tonight?" He was dressed in black from head to toes; his tie was probably gray, but in the dark room it was hard to tell.

"Stop teasing me, Wicked Witch." Playful sparkles were dancing in his eyes. "Isn't it enough that I've fallen under your spell?"

I giggled. Alice was right about the effect of the emerald green dress, even if she was wrong about the fictional character it had reminded him of. "I haven't seen Wicked for ages. We should totally do it." I was so exhilarated that I started rambling. "Oh, and there is a new exhibition at the Met. We can go tomorrow—"

"I don't think so." His eyes became cold at once. "I'm busy tomorrow. Nothing has changed, Isabella. I'm sorry if something I said had led to the misconception."

He might as well have kicked me in the gut. Oh my God, how could I be such a pathetic idiot? What was I hoping for? Nothing had changed because he hadn't changed. And there was no one to blame except myself. I suddenly felt so weak that I was afraid I would faint. Thankfully, the music came to a halt.

"My head is swimming. I'm going outside—I need some fresh air," I said, pulling away from him.

He let go of my hand but his fingers on the small of my back lingered as he leaned closer. "This party is boring. Why don't we continue celebrating on our own? I can get us a room here. Have you ever stayed at The Waldorf Towers, Isabella?"

"No."

"Neither have I. I'd like to share this experience with you."

The room was spinning as I walked to the exit and I'd only had one champagne so far. I stepped outside into the August night, too warm to be refreshing, and closed my eyes, drowning my thoughts in the buzz of the city that never sleeps.

"Bella, do you know Edward Masen well?"

I groaned inwardly and opened my eyes. Jessica Stanley, our receptionist, stood beside me.

"Are you okay?" She raised her brow. "You look kind of green—and I don't mean your dress which is terrific, by the way."

"Yes." I made an effort to appear nonchalant. "And to your previous question—no."

"Hmm..." she mused, "I wonder if he has a girlfriend."

And that simple, inane question finally undid me. "No," I said. "I'm pretty sure he hasn't got one. I'm sorry. I gotta go."

She asked me something else but I didn't listen anymore. I stepped onto the sidewalk and raised my hand to stop a passing yellow car.

I wasn't upset and disappointed with Edward. I didn't have the right to—he didn't promise me anything. I was upset and disappointed with myself for falling in love with him.

My phone chirped with an incoming text. I reached for it reluctantly.

_Where are you? I've lost you._

I hadn't given too much thought to my answer.

_Tired. On my way home. I'm sure Jessica the receptionist will be more than happy to join you in a hotel room._

Mercifully, he didn't text or call me back after that.

When I got home, I slipped off my dress and shoes and wrapped myself up in my comfy bathrobe, intending to fill the bath and open a bottle of Chardonnay. I deserved it.

Halfway through uncorking the bottle, I was startled by the intercom. I pretended to ignore it but they were persistent. Of course.

"Yes," I barked into the receiver.

"Open the door, Isabella. I'm losing it."

I huffed and crossed my arms on my chest, waiting for him to come upstairs.

"What the fuck was that?" he practically growled, slamming the door behind him. I'd never seen him so angry before.

And damn it if I wasn't angry, too. "What the fuck are you doing here?" I spat out loudly, making him recoil. I had no idea what he expected but certainly not this. "You're a free man—you can have anyone you want." I wondered if he had ever been shouted at by a woman. Probably not. Not that I cared.

It took him a moment to recover from the shock. He drew a long breath and stepped closer, cupping my face in both hands, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "I am and I can," he said in a low deep voice, making me tremble inside. "But I don't want _anyone_. I want _you_."

I knew then that I was drowning. I was drowning and nobody could save me but myself. And I wasn't capable of doing that. The heat in his eyes was consuming me, making me burn alive.

I stood still as his hands slid down my throat and under my bathrobe, touching places that ached for him, always.

"Do you want me?" he whispered.

"Why would you ask something you know the answer to?" My voice was shaking badly.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Because I want to hear you say it."

My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. "I want you."

"Show me."

My bathrobe gave in first, falling down into a heap at my feet. Then I was pushing his jacket from his shoulders, my unsteady fingers undoing his tie, his shirt buttons, his belt, his lips on my neck making me lose the last remnants of my reason. We didn't make it further than the living room; I straddled him on the couch, pulling at his hair and hungrily taking the only thing he was willing to give me.

. . .

"Isabella, wake up."

I opened my eyes slowly, trying to grasp a hold of reality. Where was I? Right, in my bed. I blinked, shaking the sleep away until I was able to focus on the man standing beside me. He was fully dressed, minus the tie, his hair a mess and his eyes red.

"Are you all right?" I croaked. "Your eyes—"

"I shouldn't have slept with my contacts on, that is all."

"I'm sorry." I sat upright, rubbing my face. I didn't feel like I had a good night's rest. "I'll just take a shower and make some breakfast. Or—I can start with breakfast."

He raised his hand to stop me. "That's unnecessary. I gotta go. I'm working outdoors today and I need to get home first. I'm sorry for waking you but I didn't want to just disappear."

"I see." I turned my head, scanning the room for my bathrobe.

"There." He took it from the chair and handed it to me.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Well, I guess _you_ are welcome." I smiled, getting up.

He gave me a smile back, but it looked forced. I saw him off to the front door; he turned abruptly, resting his hands on my shoulders and locking his eyes with mine. "I'll see you next week, yeah?"

"Sure." As if I had a choice.

He sighed and planted a kiss on my forehead. When the door closed behind him, I leaned against it, laying my palms flat on the wooden surface. I stood like that for some time, then went into the kitchen, put the half-opened bottle of wine into the fridge, and grabbed a jar of Nutella and a spoon. Nutella always made everything better.

* * *

**Well, the genre of this story is _drama_ for a reason.**

**Thanks to Katie1824 and to Fliki (at first I didn't want to get out of bed at all today, but then I thought of you and felt guilty. LOL)**

**And Nutella does make everything better. Trust.**


	13. Chapter 13

My friend Victoria was 38. She used to be my boss at my previous work and she had always been a striking example of a self-made, successful woman who knew what she wanted and believed the ends justified the means. When the scary number 40 started looming on her horizon, she decided to take her personal life into her own hands. Literally. Desperate times called for desperate measures. After the deliberate selection, she had found a man who was deserving and willing to become a biological father of her child. That's how baby Riley was born.

We had dinner at an overpriced swanky vegan restaurant together—me, Victoria, and baby Riley, who turned one year old last week. She told me how hard is was being a working single mom but how it was worth it; how much joy it was having a baby, how good it felt to be loved unconditionally for the first time in her life. How supportive Riley's father was even if he had his own family and kids.

When I returned home, I thought that maybe it wasn't the worse option. Maybe it could work for me, too. The question was, how long should I have to wait before giving up on the idea of a two-parent family? And damn it if this didn't make me panic because I was turning thirty next week. My time was running out.

I was staring at Edward's muscular back as he stood by the kitchen counter, cutting bagels into perfectly even halves and spreading cream cheese with such thoroughness as if it was a work of art. I wondered what he would say if I asked him to... err... donate reproduction material. He'd probably have a stroke.

"It's my birthday next Tuesday. I'm going to have dinner with my friends. Will you join us?" I asked him instead.

He turned and I noticed a vein on his forehead that only became prominent when we had sex and he was holding back. But we weren't having sex right now. We were talking. What was so straining about that?

"Um... I'd like to, but I'll probably be working late." He rested his hands on the countertop behind him, gripping onto its edge. The tension had been hanging in the air since the moment I crossed the threshold of his apartment yesterday. I hoped it wasn't because of the stunt I pulled last Friday. In hindsight, I regretted being so harsh—what was I thinking? I could have so easily lost him.

"It's okay," I said. Actually, it was Alice's idea to invite him—she was still determined to make our relationship _normal_. Not that I didn't want him to come to my birthday party, but I had simply grown tired of cherishing hopes that appeared to be vain. "You don't need to arrive at the beginning. The cake won't be served until ten or so." I winked.

He chuckled. "With thirty candles?"

"Awful," I muttered under my breath.

"Not at all. Welcome to the major league, baby."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, searching his eyes. "Come to support me. Please."

"I'll try to. I'm not making promises, but I'll try to. And if I fail, I'll make good next Friday. Okay?"

I gave a slight nod. Either way, I decided I would have fun on my own fucking birthday. I'd had twenty-nine birthdays without him and one more would make no difference.

Tuesday started with a call from my mom. She wished me all the best, made me promise her to go to a church, and inquired how my internet relationship with Alessandro was going. Dang. I mumbled something about how busy we both had been recently; thankfully, Salvatore asked her to give him the phone. As soon as we hung up, Dad called, then Alice, and Jacob. My phone kept ringing all the way to work.

Edward didn't call me. Instead, when I came into the office, I was hand delivered white roses and lilies with a box of Godiva chocolates and a card saying _Happy birthday, beautiful! _

Someone should have warned him I'm allergic to lilies.

I had a few attacks of nerves during the day but I refused to succumb to them. I was not sixteen—I was _thirty_ for crying out loud. And it was right about time to get a grip on myself and learn how to separate hopes from illusions.

My friends had booked a table at a small and cozy cafe in Greenwich Village. The round table was decorated with candles and flowers; it was big enough to sit another person had he arrived. Since it had been a surprise location, I texted Edward its name and address. He didn't reply.

At eight, when our main course had been served, I decided the elephant in the room was too big to be ignored.

"Okay, guys," I said. "He won't come, alright? He's busy tonight."

Jasper cast his eyes away as if I had said something obscene; Alice stopped chewing, watching me warily; and Jacob leaned in and kissed my cheek. "Bells, honestly, I'm not missing this guy and his creepy looks."

"You don't have to like him." I gulped down my champagne. "It's okay. It's just... I don't want to hear any of you talking about him as if you know him. What happens between us stays between us. I'm fed up with you telling me what to do about it. Okay, Alice?"

She nodded, pursing her lips. "If you want me to mind my own business, I get that, Bella," she said softly. "It's your life after all."

"Exactly." I took a deep breath. "I love you all. You are my family. The best family I could ever imagine possible. Thank you. Thank you for everything you've been doing to me. For this." I waved around the room, tears suddenly prickling at my eyes. "You're amazing. Thank you so much. And please don't judge me. Please."

"Look at our girl." Jasper grinned, reaching out to wipe away a tear that started rolling down my cheek. "All grown-up and mature. I'm proud of you. All you need is just a little bit of luck. I have a toast. To luck!"

We raised glasses and clinked, and a piano man started playing _Happy Birthday To You_ for a hundredth time, and we laughed, and the tears were forgotten and so was the elephant.

A big Belgian Chocolate cake was served at ten sharp. It was sinfully delicious, rich and silky. Almost better than sex. I feasted on it, unable to stop until there was nothing left and I felt like I weighed 500 pounds.

We were driving home with Jake. I was tired and sleepy, so I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Do you want to continue to party?" he asked. "I have a bottle of Stoli. We could sit in your kitchen and drink all night like in good old times."

I yawned. "Nah, I'm too old for all-nighters. I have work tomorrow. Responsibilities suck."

"They do." He ruffled up my hair. "I just mean, if you don't want to be alone tonight, I could stay with you."

"Ooh, aren't you sweet?" I cooed. "Thank you. I'm fine. I really am."

"Word?"

"Word."

I entered my dark apartment, switched on the lights in the hall, and placed my keys on the rack. It was so quiet that suddenly my heart clenched in my chest. It felt like loneliness was seeping from every corner, threatening to suffocate me.

"Fuck you," I spat out, not sure who exactly I was addressing. "Fucking fuck you!"

"Meow." Mr. Puss rubbed against the bedroom door frame, looking at me with wide eyes. He probably thought I was crazy. Rightfully so.

"Poor baby. Did I wake you? Mommy is a nutcase tonight. Ah, to hell with it. I'm going to bed." Damn it, I was talking to my cat. What next? House plants?

I pulled on my comfiest soft flannel pajamas with Disney's Tigger on the front and quickly brushed my teeth, snuggling into my bed. It was not a bad day, yet I was glad it was finally over.

Soon I was fast asleep just to be rudely awakened by the noise. At first I thought I was still dreaming because it seemed someone had been calling my name. Not _someone_. Edward.

I practically jumped from the bed and sprinted to the window, tripping on my way.

He stood right in the middle of the dark street, staring at my window. When I pulled the window open and leaned out of it, he started waving frantically. "Bella!"

I must have been dreaming, after all, because he never called me Bella. "What are you doing here?"

"It's your birthday! I couldn't miss it! Happy birthday!" He swayed. My God, he was so stinking drunk. And he wasn't used to drinking liquor—control was his element and he didn't feel comfortable losing it. I even doubted he kept anything stronger than wine at home. What the hell happened today, or rather, yesterday?

"Shut the fuck up," I hissed. "You'll wake the neighbors. Come up here."

I flicked on the lights in the hall and unlocked the door. My brain was still half asleep, not fully capable of analyzing the situation, yet my heart was beating frantically in my chest. Finally, I heard the unsteady steps.

He placed his hands on both sides of the doorway, probably having trouble standing up straight, and grinned foolishly as he took me in. "Hello, Tiger."

"It's _Tigger_," I said.

He snorted and only then did I notice his lip was busted and swollen, his nose was bruised, and his clothes badly crumpled. His shirt was sticking out of his pants, small dark stains frighteningly prominent on the white fabric; I only hoped it wasn't blood. Either way, he looked scary.

"What happened?" I asked in a small voice.

"Rough day." He pushed himself off the doorway and shut the door behind him with his foot. "Thank God it's over." The strong smell of whiskey reached me before he did.

He closed the remaining distance between us and raised his hand in an abrupt movement. I flinched.

"Don't." He wrapped his arms tight around me; albeit drunk, he was still so strong. "Bella... _Bellissima_... Why do you always shy away from me? Why don't you let me in?"

His drunken blabbering made absolutely no sense. I made an attempt to push him away. "Let me attend to your wounds. It looks like your nose will be the size of California tomorrow."

He sighed and stepped back, letting me lead him to the living room. I made him sit on the couch and went to the kitchen. There was a half-full bottle of vodka in the fridge; I poured some on a clean cloth. When I returned, he had taken off his shoes and jacket and lay back, resting his head against the cushions.

"The room is spinning," he moaned.

"Sorry about that." I sat down next to him. "Now, I'm afraid this is going to sting."

His whole body jerked and his eyes flew open when I carefully touched his broken lip with the alcohol-soaked cloth.

"Shhh. I need to make sure it's clean. Here. Okay." I finished with his lip and proceeded to his nose. "Better. I'll bring the ice."

"How about some milk and cookies?" He giggled.

"You wish." The irony of the situation didn't escape me.

I didn't have an ice pack so I simply put a few ice cubes into a plastic bag and wrapped a dish towel over it. He suffered stoically, silently watching me this time; only his breath hitched as I moved my hand. When the ice melted, I glanced at the clock. Two thirty. I had four hours of sleep left.

I stood up and went to the closet, retrieved an extra pillow and a blanket and tucked him in, hoping he wouldn't throw up on my couch, and then made him swallow two Tylenol and a glass of water. "Alright, I'm going to bed."

"Will you kiss me goodnight?"

I deliberated for a moment, then leaned and pressed my lips to his forehead—the only unharmed part of his face. "Night."

He closed his eyes with a content sigh. "You make it go away."

"What are you talking about?" I asked in confusion, but he was asleep already.

The rest of the night was uneasy. I couldn't get a wink of sleep, worrying about the man in my living room. I should have taken him to a hospital—what if his nose was broken and he would start suffocating and I wouldn't hear?

At six, half an hour before the alarm, I gave up and tiptoed to the living room. He was seemingly fine—his breathing was even and his bruises weren't too prominent in the dark—so I decided I could finally relax and go have a shower.

Hot water made my muscles less rigid, but my head was still swimming after a sleepless night. I proceeded to the kitchen and opened the fridge just to realize I wasn't hungry at all. I put on the coffee and went to my bedroom to get ready for the day. Thank God for the killer foundation that helped me hide awful circles under my eyes.

It was still early but I decided it was right about time to wake him. I grabbed my cup of coffee, opened the living room door, and switched on the overhead lights.

He groaned, opening his eyes. Despite my earlier effort, his lip was badly swollen and the bridge of his nose looked purplish. Plus, his eyes were red and puffy from both too much alcohol and sleeping with his contacts on.

"Good morning," I said wryly.

He groaned again, sitting up slowly. "Can I beg for some mercy?"

"Why? At least you have managed to get some sleep," I pointed out, giving him an icy stare. Even when he looked like shit, he was still gorgeous. Tough and gorgeous.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not enough. I could use an explanation why you showed up here, totally smashed, at two AM on my fucking birthday."

He cast his eyes down, wincing as he attempted to rub his face. I took a long gulp of my coffee.

"September 13," he finally said.

"So what?" I was so annoyed with him talking in riddles.

His red-rimmed eyes met mine. "My father died on September 13 five years ago. Have I told you I didn't go to the funeral?"

My heart sank; I gaped at him, suddenly unable to move.

"Well, I didn't."

"I'm so sorry," I managed. "But you could have told me... You should have. I'd understand." My knees buckled; I put my cup on a coffee table and sat down on the couch next to him. Coincidences accompanied us from the very beginning—how come that was even surprising?

He chuckled dryly. "I didn't want to spoil this day for you with my sulks."

"Why, thank you," I muttered. "That's truly thoughtful. So you pull this stunt each year? Way to show your respect to his memory by getting into barroom brawls."

He winced. "Please. I feel bad enough without your biting comments."

"Will you tell me what happened yesterday?"

"I fell."

"You fell."

"I don't remember the details, but there was nothing to be proud of. I was at a bar and at some point they stopped serving me, which pissed me off. I assaulted someone who tried to calm me down and the bouncer kicked me out. The rest is history."

"By the way, you should see a doctor about your nose."

He ran his index finger up and down his nose, hissing. "It's not broken."

"Okay, Mr. Know-it-all. It's your nose for God's sake," I said calmly.

He dug into his pocket, retrieving his phone. "Dead. Shit. I have a meeting... How am I supposed to cancel it now? Fuck."

I frowned. "I can offer you my charger but I'm leaving for work in ten minutes."

"Please." He handed me his dead phone. I plugged it in the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of mineral water and two more Tylenol.

"Thank you." He drank the water greedily, then laced up his shoes and awkwardly stood up. "May I use the bathroom?"

I nodded. "Make yourself at home."

He staggered out and I heard him curse—he must have passed by the mirror in the hall.

I finished my coffee and turned on the faucet in the kitchen to rinse the cup. The whirling of water in the sink made me fall into a strange trance; a deep sigh behind my back made me jump. When I turned, he cast his eyes down. He looked beaten, but then again, he had been beaten.

"Go home and soak in a hot bath," I said. "Oh, and I have something for you." I brushed past him and returned with my concealer. "It will take ages for your bruises to fade so you're going to need this. It works magic."

"Thank you." He smiled, bringing his hand to graze my cheek. "Why are you so kind to me?"

I covered his hand with mine, leaning into it. Somehow I couldn't be angry with him anymore.

"I owe you a birthday present." He was looking into my eyes in that way which made me weak and his.

"You don't owe me anything."

He ignored my remark. "The thing is, I planned for us to go shopping together and have you choose whatever you want... Not with my face looking like this, obviously—even I wouldn't go shopping with me now. I'm so sorry for being such a fail." He sighed. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions, isn't it?"

"I need to tell you something important," I said.

He raised his brow.

"I'm allergic to lilies."

He was healing quickly. When I came to visit him Friday, only a small scar on his upper lip and a band-aid on the bridge of his nose reminded of the incident. Neither of us brought it up again; we just cuddled up on the couch and watched the re-runs of _Friends_.

Saturday I went to New Jersey. On the train, I concocted a story how my mythical boyfriend had fallen ill and how sorry he was not to be able to attend my family get together. Luckily, they didn't inquire about him at all this time. Even Leah didn't.

"Would you read for the girls?" she asked me as it was time for them to have a nap. "They love it when you do."

"Sure." I smiled. "What do you want to hear today, young ladies?"

"A story about a Princess," Rachel said.

"And a Prince Charming," Rebecca added. "When I grow up, I will marry Prince Charming," she said with an absolute certainty.

"No, I will marry him! I will!" Rachel smacked her sister with a pillow and they started fighting.

"Stop it!" I laughed. "This argument is pointless. Prince Charming only exists in the fairy tales. He isn't real."

"He is." Rachel sat back. "His name is Edward."

My mouth fell open and my eyes popped out of their sockets. Well, at least that was how it felt. "What?"

Leah snorted behind my back. "_Enchanted_ is their favorite movie. They have seen it at least five hundred times."

"Oh," I said, recovering from the shock.

"Here." Leah handed me a colorful book. "You can read them _Sleeping Beauty_. Anything starring Prince Charming will do. Sometimes I wonder whose kids they are."

I shook my head. Her allusion didn't escape me—I used to be the last and most pathetic dreamer on earth. When I was seventeen, I still believed in Prince Charming. When I was twenty-four, I grew tired of waiting for him and tried to settle for less. Now that I was thirty, I knew for sure he didn't exist.

But how could I explain this to the four-year-old girls? Did I have the right to tell them that happily-ever-afters didn't always happen in real life?

So I just opened the book and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a Queen who had a beautiful baby daughter..."

* * *

**Looks like we are getting somewhere. Thank you for being patient with these two. **

**Katie1824, thank you for the love! XO**

**I'm LuckyStar815 on Twitter. **


	14. Chapter 14

"I got a joke," he said as we were having dinner the next Friday night. "Emmett told me today. His seven-year-old brought it from school."

I took a long sip of my wine. "Let's hear it."

"What word starts with F and ends with UCK?" He was grinning.

I rolled my eyes. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-one. Come on. It's funny. Try to guess."

"I've no idea. Not at all."

"Firetruck."

"Yeah, that was funny." I continued with my wine.

He sighed, rose to his feet, and came to stand behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. His fingers started kneading my tight muscles. "I miss your smile. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just fall. It makes me feel depressed." It felt like the light inside me had been switched off. I barely had any energy this week; I was tired all the time and getting up in the mornings took an enormous effort. It was getting worse with every passing day and I couldn't resist it—I surrendered to apathy, letting it suck me in.

"It doesn't feel like fall yet," he pointed out.

I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation of his fingers on my skin. "Perhaps I'm just getting old."

"I'm so taking you shopping tomorrow," he said resolutely, pressing his lips to the nape of my neck. "Your birthday present, remember?"

For some reason, I couldn't even bring myself to be happy that he wanted us to act like normal couple for once. "I don't know... I'm so tired."

"I'll let you sleep in." His lips brushed against my skin, evoking something within me that was making me feel alive. "We could go to bed right now."

"Yeah, I'd like that," I whispered.

It was dark in the room when the ringing of my phone woke me. I sat up abruptly, staring at the clock on the nightstand at first, failing to understand what the hell was going on at two in the morning.

"Answer your phone," Edward groaned beside me.

I crawled out of bed and felt for my purse on the chair. The sound wouldn't stop; someone was nothing if not persistent. Finally, I managed to locate the damn device and my heart sank as I saw the caller ID: _Mommy_.

"Mom?" I gasped. "Are you okay? It's two AM here."

She sobbed and my heart stopped beating. "Bella, it's Sal. He's gone."

"What?"

"He died, Bella. Oh my God, I can't..."

"What?" I gasped again.

_It isn't real. It's just a bad dream. This isn't happening. Sal couldn't have died. He_'s _not even old. _

The room started spinning.

"He had lung cancer," Mom's weak voice broke through the haze. "He knew it. He knew and did nothing. He wanted us to live a full, normal life. He wouldn't even tell me! Two weeks ago, I drove him to the hospital when he started coughing blood and it wouldn't stop." She was becoming agitated. "They said it was clinical stage four. Surgery was contraindicated but I tried to insist anyway. If there was a tiny chance, I wanted to use it. But he wouldn't let me. He rejected it. He said he didn't want to die in the surgery. How could he do this to me?" she practically spat out.

It wasn't making any sense at all. I tried to collect my thoughts but there weren't any. My mind was completely blank.

"It's okay. I'm fine," I heard Mom reassuring someone in Italian before getting back to me. "Bella, honey, the funeral is Monday. Can you come?"

"Of course, I will," I rasped. "I'll buy a ticket now. You should get some sleep. Ask them to give you some strong sedatives. And don't go home, okay? Can you stay with someone?"

"Yes, yes. But how can I leave him here?" She was weeping again.

I needed to be strong, with all I had in me. "Mom, you have to. Do it for me. Please."

"_Tesoro mio_." Her voice trembled. "You're all I have now."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I promised. "I love you, Mom."

I hung up, suddenly acknowledging three things.

First, the room wasn't dark. The lights on both nightstands were on.

Second, I was naked and kneeling on the floor.

And third, Edward was kneeling in front of me, dressed in a t-shirt and boxers. "What happened?"

"My stepfather... he... he _died_." The word got stuck in my throat. Even after I had said it out loud, I still failed to perceive it as reality. It felt like I had found myself in a different dimension where everything was falling apart and there was nothing to hold on to. "I... we were really close... I need to buy a ticket. Can I borrow your laptop?" My own voice sounded strangely detached, mechanical, like I was listening to someone else speaking.

"Come here." He took my hands and helped me up, making me sit on the bed.

The next thing I knew, I was wrapped in his shirt, fresh and crisp, with his Mac heavy on my lap. I opened the Internet browser and checked the flights schedule for tomorrow or, rather, today. There were four direct flights to Rome in the afternoon and I proceeded to the airlines' sites only to discover that the cheapest return ticket would cost me about $ 1500.

"Fuck," I muttered, clicking the _continue_ button. It wasn't like I had a choice. "Pass me my purse, please."

"Let me." He pried the laptop from my hands instead, then reached for his wallet lying on the nightstand and pulled something out—his Amex card.

"What are you doing?" My mind failed to grasp what was going on.

"Let's check it. Your flight is at five thirty-five AM tomorrow. And your flight back is next Friday, departing from Rome at one and five in the afternoon and arriving here at five sharp."

"Right. But you have lost me."

"Hold on." His fingers were running so fast over the laptop keys, pausing only to flip his card over. "Okay, done. Check your email."

I reached for my phone; there was one new mail. It was from Delta Airlines. My e-ticket.

And then it finally clicked. "No, I can't accept this. It's—"

"Shhh." He pressed his index finger to my lips. "It's the least I can do. Consider it my birthday present."

"I... Oooh." My mind was racing, searching for words. "Thank you," I finally managed.

He cupped my chin. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Tell me." He was looking into my eyes and that was the only thing making perfect sense. He was here. He was real.

"Hold me," I gasped.

He wrapped his arms around me tenderly and I clung to his chest, my fingers gripping onto the back of his t-shirt for dear life. It felt like I would shatter into pieces if he wasn't holding me so tight. It seemed I had forgotten how to breathe through my nose; the air was coming in and out of my mouth with a whooshing sound.

"Don't fight it," he said softly, stroking my hair. "Tears don't make you weak. They make you human."

And his words did it—the dam had burst.

I don't know how long I was crying into his shoulder. I cried about Sal and my poor mom. I cried remembering Edward's own loss. I cried because some things were never to be fixed. I cried because I could smell damp cotton and the ocean and felt his fingertips tracing patterns on my back and it was so good not to be alone. Somehow I had cried myself to sleep. The last thing I remembered was the feel of his arms around me, warm and secure.

When I woke up, it was still dark, and he was still there. It was the first time ever he held me all night. I stirred, finding him awake and watching me. For a long, long moment we were just looking into each other's eyes, either not knowing what to say or not needing to. Finally, he leaned in and planted a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"What can I get you for breakfast?" he murmured into my hair.

I thought about food and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm not hungry. I'll just have a shower and go home. I need to pack." My voice sounded awful.

"Coffee, then. Or tea, maybe?"

"Coffee, please." I needed caffeine. Badly. "Black and strong."

He made coffee while I was showering.

"Give me two minutes, okay? I'll be real quick," he said as I took a sip, leaning against the kitchen counter. I raised my brow; my brain was still working too slowly.

"One to take a shower and one to get dressed," he explained. "I'm going with you."

"Why?" I breathed.

"Because nobody should be alone on a day like this."

Something clenched inside my chest, gripping my heart in a steel vice.

He was holding my hand and caressing my hair as I leaned against him in the taxi. When we got to my apartment, he helped me pack, reminding me of the things I might need. He took my phone and checked me into my flight. He reminded me to call my boss about my week's absence. He tried to make me eat, but I wouldn't be able to stomach anything. He even managed to refrain from looking daggers when Jacob came over to take my cat and hugged me.

He saw me off at the JFK, waiting until the last call to let go of my hand. "Take care, will you?"

I managed a smile. "I'll try to."

He sighed, pressing his forehead to mine. "You are very strong."

I wanted to say that I was tired of being strong. That I wanted someone to take the weight of the world off my shoulders. But I didn't. I pressed my lips to his instead.

I dozed away during my flight, haunted by snatches of meaningless dreams that kept flowing one into another. When my plane landed in Rome, it felt like I was still having a bad dream. My mom, looking like she had aged ten years since I last saw her. Sal's unfamiliar face, peaceful and young. Strangers in black in their house. The heat. Uneaten meals. Fervent prayers. Tears. Tears. More tears. Edward's voice on the phone—my only connection to the reality.

A week had passed like a blur. I felt guilty for leaving Mom so soon, and even more guilty for wanting to leave sooner. The very second the plane started taxiing down the runway, I closed my eyes and once again fell into a slumber.

I woke up when we were flying above the Atlantic Ocean. I felt weak but my mind was surprisingly clear and alert, as though refreshed after being merely passive for so long, back to the consciousness after having a nightmare. Except that it wasn't a nightmare. It had actually happened. I had lost someone I dearly loved, someone who was holding a very special place in my life and in my heart. Someone who used to keep all my secrets.

All of a sudden, Sal's words resounded in my head, loud and clear, as if he was sitting right there next to me. _Don't be afraid to take the first step. If you love him, tell him what you want before it's too late._

I didn't fully understand it back then. I did now; when he told me this, he already knew he was dying. They were his farewell words.

_Before it's too late. _

Who knew what awaited for me tomorrow? Life was short. Too short to be unhappy.

And with that, came a painful realization: as much as I was afraid to lose Edward, I couldn't pretend it was okay anymore. I tried and failed miserably—it was something I just couldn't win. I would have to tell him the truth. If he said no, I would accept it and go on with my own life before it was too late. The thing was, once I had become resolved, I stopped worrying. _Whatever is meant to be will be_, as my grandmother used to say.

He came to meet me at the airport; my heart took a leap when I saw the familiar features and searching eyes. He didn't say anything, only rested his hands on the back of my neck, pulling me into a heated kiss. My own hands slid under his leather jacket, circling around his waist.

"You're so thin," he whispered, cupping my face and observing me closely. "And your skin is almost translucent. Have you been eating and sleeping at all?"

"A bit."

He frowned and shook his head in disapproval. Taking my carry-on in one hand, he placed the other on my waist, leading me to the exit.

"Oh no, not this way," he said when I turned to the everlong taxi line. "To the parking lot."

I quirked an eyebrow. "The parking lot?"

"I borrowed Emmett's car today. Hate waiting in line."

"Oh." I realized that in six months, I hadn't once taken a car ride with him. I had no idea what kind of driver he was. It was so weird... but was it, really?

He stopped by a Jeep and I smiled because it was a car that suited Emmett perfectly—big and quite loud. Having put my carry-on to a back seat, he opened the passenger door for me. "Ma'am."

"Thank you."

It was a rainy day in New York. When we slowly pulled out of the parking lot, the droplets of water started running down the windshield. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off them, fascinated by the patterns they were drawing on the glass. He didn't try to engage me in a conversation; he turned on the radio instead, quietly humming along to it. He appeared to be a good driver—the car moved smoothly even when he accelerated.

Only when we entered the tunnel, did I notice we were taking the wrong way. "Where are we going?" I asked, momentarily becoming vigilant.

"My place." He cast me a quick glance.

"I thought you were talking me home."

He shrugged. "You always stay at my place on Fridays."

One word was all it took to trigger the explosion within me. It was time. I was ready.

"I'm tired," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why don't you drive me home now and we see each other tomorrow?"

That was it. I had pushed the invisible limit and the wall shut down between us. He switched off the radio. "Because I might have other plans for tomorrow," he said quietly. "We had an agreement, remember?"

I waited calmly until we were out on the street again. My hands didn't shake. My heartbeat was even. "It doesn't work for me, it appears."

"Excuse me?"

"I guess I'm not good at casual relationship... I want more." There. I said it.

He exhaled loudly. There was a wall, and now there also were bars and a barbed wire. I expected that much; I must have gotten to know him, after all.

"Isabella, we had an agreement," he reminded me dryly once again. "You knew my freedom is important to me and you accepted it."

"Your freedom," I finally snapped. "Your freedom to do what, exactly? To work like a maniac until you have a coronary?"

His eyes were tight, fixed on the road. "This is none of your business."

"Of course it's not," I hissed. "But you know what? The week I spent at your place when I twisted my ankle was the happiest time of my life. And I thought you enjoyed it as well. I guess I was wrong."

He didn't reply anything, only pressed his lips together in a grim line.

"I love you, Edward." It was surprising how easy these words just came out. It wasn't how I imagined saying it to him, but strangely, it made me feel free in a way I'd never known before. "I love you but I love myself, too. And I can't do this anymore because it's killing me. I quit."

"What?" He turned abruptly, hitting the brakes at the same time, making our car jolt and the other drivers lay on their car horns.

"I'm leaving," I said. "Stop the car and let me out."

"You can't just—"

"I surely can," I spat out. "If you're pushing our agreement into my face, care to comply with its terms. It holds true until one of us decides to quit. So thank you for everything and stop the fucking car because I've just quit!"

"But it's raining," he protested through his clenched teeth.

"I don't care."

"I'll drive you home."

"Just stop already!"

He cursed under his breath, pulling over to the curb at the intersection of East 47th and 2nd. I snatched the door open, wind and rain lashing against my face, and grabbed my bag from the back seat. "Thank you for everything. Goodbye."

I shut the door behind me and raised my hand to stop the taxi approaching just in time before I got soaked to the bone. I caught my breath only when I was inside and the car started off. It was over. I used to think it would hurt, but I was numb instead. Perhaps I had run out of emotions.

"You'll be alright?" Jake asked, wrapping his arms around me as I came to pick up Mr. Puss on my way home.

"Yeah. Of course I will." I sighed. "Life goes on."

I didn't tell him about breaking up with Edward. I wasn't sure I could.

It was cold and damp in my apartment. I poured myself a cup of tea, had a bath, then put on my Tigger pajamas and decided to call it a day. I had to be at work Monday and it would be a very busy week because I had been away, so I needed to get some rest before the weekend was over. I downed two Advil PMs and went to bed, refusing to let myself think about today's events.

I didn't have any dreams that night; I slept like a baby for twelve hours and I could have slept more if not for the doorbell. My head was heavy and my feet kind of feeble as I scrambled down from the bed, wondering who on Earth might that be.

He was standing on the threshold, wearing sunglasses. "Morning, Tigger." A short-lived ghost of a smile played on his lips and he took his sunglasses off. His eyes were red-rimmed. "May I come in?"

* * *

**All the pieces of the puzzle will come together in the next chapter. I promise.**

**Thanks to my dear friend Katie1824.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Happy International Women's Day! Happy early update, too. Thanks to Katie1824 for help and support.**

* * *

There was no wall. No bars. Just the man I loved. The man who could make me happy. The man who could become my undoing.

I crossed my arms on my chest. "What do you want?"

He held out a McDonald's paper bag. "I figured you didn't get groceries yesterday so I brought you breakfast."

"Why?" I exhaled.

His stare became impossibly more intense. "Because I care." He shifted from one foot to another, looking uncomfortable. "And because I need to show you something. Please come with me."

"I thought you had other plans," I said wryly.

"Please. It's important."

I barely had any weaknesses to speak of, but his look was one of them. I sighed in defeat. "Get in."

He followed me into the kitchen and put the paper bag on the counter, taking out its contents: Hash Browns, an Egg McMuffin, Cinnamon Melts, even a large cup of what would be McCafé Latte—all my favorites. Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, they say.

"You know, I could make coffee myself," I said, "I'm perfectly capable of it."

"A latte? Do you have milk?"

I opened the fridge and sniffed the half-empty carton. "Sort of." I crinkled my nose in disgust, pouring its contents into the sink.

He snorted. "That's what I thought."

"If you came here to prove I'm dependent on you, the point is moot," I snapped.

Instead of an answer, he took a large plate from the rack, arranging unwrapped food on it. "Please eat."

"What about you?"

"Not hungry."

Well, I suddenly was. I hadn't eaten anything substantial for a week and my stomach betrayed me, growling at the sight of food. I made a beeline to the bathroom to quickly wash my face and brush my teeth. Avoiding his look, I climbed on a bar stool and began to eat.

"Thank you," I muttered when my plate was empty.

"You're welcome."

"So where do you want me to go, specifically?"

"Outdoors."

"Outdoors?" I asked in disbelief.

"Put on something warm—there's no rain, but it's rather windy."

It took me a moment to become aware that he was wearing his gray hoodie, black jeans and sneakers—comfortable things that he normally wore only at home or for working out. Come think of it, I'd never seen him wearing jeans at all before, for crying out loud.

"What?" He caught me staring.

"Nothing." I decided not to dwell on the subject. "Remind me again why I'm doing this."

He didn't reply anything but his eyes pleaded with mine.

I bit on my lip. "I'll go change."

I quickly slid on jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. When I opened the closet, looking for my jacket, I came across a flower print scarf I had bought in Italy last summer and wrapped it around my neck for extra warmth. I frowned, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked horrible, but I couldn't be bothered with make-up—I didn't care if I would frighten anyone with my looks.

He was waiting patiently in the kitchen, stroking a very pleased-looking Mr. Puss. Traitor cat.

"Ready," I said.

He nodded with a small smile. "Let's go."

Downstairs, I stopped by the front door, checking the intercom—it was working. "Hmm," I mused.

"I thought the chances you would let me in were slim," he explained. "And people find it harder to refuse when asked face to face."

"So you sneaked into my building?"

He chuckled. "An old lady with a white poodle decided I was trustworthy."

I shook my head. "She's crazy, that woman."

"Whatever." He put on his sunglasses, motioning for me to the Jeep parked just outside the building—he was lucky it didn't get towed away.

Silently, he opened the car door for me, got inside, and we started off uptown. We didn't speak; I had nothing left to say to him, so I reached out to turn on the radio, trying to relax and enjoy the ride. It was a beautiful day. Soon we were on a highway, speeding past the rocks and the forests until he took an exit to a secondary road. He slowed down, continuing to another, narrow and unpaved road that curved between the trees. Curiosity began eating me up.

And then I saw it. Surrounded by large ferns and trees, there stood a house. The house I had seen in so many drawings that it would be impossible not to recognize. The house of glass. Edward's house of glass.

I gaped at it as we pulled into a small parking lot by the garage entrance. I only noticed the car had come to a halt when he opened my door and reached out. His hand was cold and trembled slightly.

"Your project," I stated the obvious.

He nodded, pursing his lips to hide a smile.

"Wow." On a closer look, I noticed that technically there were no walls at all but rather floor to ceiling windows, the cold of glass in perfect harmony with the warmth of timber frames.

He didn't let go of my hand, tugging me toward the wide stairs leading to the entrance. The first floor space was divided into two parts—a living room and a simply furnished kitchen with a large dining area, separated by a plain white wall. And even though the side walls were all timber, with the glass back wall similar to the front one, it was amazing how light and airy it was inside. I felt free and open but at the same time protected by the comfortable green of the forest. The floors were hardwood and I wanted to take off my shoes and let my feet touch it. There was a fireplace nestled in the center of the side wall in the living room area; I imagined sitting by the fire when it was snowing outside—it was a picture of perfection.

The stairs to the second floor were hardwood too, the boards creaking as we climbed up. There was a hall upstairs, alongside the back wall. He led me to the door at the faraway end and opened it, inviting me in. It would appear to be a master bedroom. Thin white curtains were pulled, covering the glass door that led to the balcony, but just barely. The huge bed with the white bedspread was the only piece of furniture, but it wasn't what attracted my attention. There was a skylight in the roof, filling the room with natural light. I could only imagine what it would feel like lying in this bed staring at the sky on a starry night.

"The skylight was the most tricky part," he said, following my gaze. "I wanted it to cover the whole roof and we tried different angles, but it wouldn't work right."

"It works perfectly," I said.

"Still not what I had in mind." He opened the adjacent bathroom door. "Take a look over here."

I walked past him. "Wow," was all I could manage. The bathroom was built into the back glass wall, facing the forest.

"When you start the shower, it gets misted over," he said, noticing my confusion. I nodded, not sure how I would feel about stripping down in the forest.

I lingered in the bathroom, admiring the view until I noticed he wasn't there anymore. When I returned to the bedroom, he wasn't there either. I shrugged, closing the door behind me.

I found him sitting on the stairs outside, staring ahead to the lush greenery. He looked up at me and patted the spot beside him. I settled down, taking a deep breath of fresh air. It's wasn't too cold, but it smelled like autumn. Despite of its sadness, there were many things I loved about autumn. I loved brightly colored trees in Central Park and pumpkin pies and Thanksgiving. I even loved the sound of rain beating against windows—I always found it soothing.

"Your client is lucky," I said.

He chuckled humorlessly. "Have I ever told you what my father's favorite kind of punishment was?" he asked suddenly, making me tense.

"No."

"Since I was ten, he used to lock me in my room."

My heart clenched. "What did you do to deserve that?"

"It could be anything, really. If my grades weren't good enough. If I missed the curfew. If I couldn't explain where my allowance went." His voice was cool, flat.

"How cruel was that?" I muttered.

"I hated him so much. I hated being stuck in those walls. They suffocated me. Usually I stood by the window, looking at the lights of the city, and dreamed about becoming a grown-up. I dreamed that I would live alone and always do what I want, you know, stupid stuff like never making my bed or eating only junk food."

I snorted—he did not make his bed. And loved junk food.

He shook his head. "One day, I dreamed about the house I wanted to live in. I imagined it in every detail. Then I sat down at my desk—I had that huge mahogany desk I hated too—and started drawing it. But no matter how hard I tried, it just wouldn't come out right. It was very frustrating. The next day, I went to a bookstore and bought a book on architecture. Then another one. That's how I found my calling."

"Oh." Realization finally dawned on me. "So there is no client."

His face remained expressionless, his stare unmoving. "When I grew up, I eventually gave up on that dream, thinking it was stupid and childish, but it kept haunting me," he continued. "Now that I had skills, it became more detailed, more realistic. I was perfecting it over and over again. It became my obsession, my child, my secret... my everything. But I also knew that my perception of it was far from being unbiased, so I was afraid to show it to anyone, afraid I'd be laughed at." He paused, his index finger drawing patterns on his knee. "For some reason it was too intimate to share... like exposing my very soul to critics, if you know what I mean."

"But your guests must have seen the pictures," I said incredulously.

"My guests," he accentuated the word. "Were not invited in my study."

"Oh." I pondered at the weight of this surprising revelation.

"It was merely a dream and I would probably never have a chance to make it real if not for Carlisle. He saw the drawing that somehow happened to be lost between some papers and pressed me about it. When I confided in him, he took to it wholeheartedly. He found this land, he helped me finalize the design; he even co-signed the loan with me."

"It's on loan?"

He nodded. "The land here is more expensive than gold. Plus, the house itself isn't cheap to build, either—I'm sure you have the idea."

"Yeah. Pretty much so."

"Well, it didn't bother me because I had a plan." His lips curled up a bit as if he recalled something amusing. "I've always worked a lot. So I calculated that if I keep taking as many projects as I can, I will be done in five years without sacrificing my current lifestyle." He sounded quite proud of himself. Well, he should have been.

The pieces of the puzzle started coming together.

"On February 14, I had the land ownership papers in my hands." He finally turned and his eyes, radiating warm green light, met mine. "And the next day, I met you."

"Coincidence," I whispered. I wanted to reach out and touch him but something told me it wasn't the right thing to do.

"Your project came very timely. It was very well-paid and I needed money to begin the construction here."

"And Carlisle had to leave," I said.

"You have a good memory." He flashed a smile. "Do you remember the day we met? There was something in your look when we first shook hands... as if you were challenging me."

"What? I was so badly hungover that day I could barely keep my eyes open!"

His smile grew wider. "Either way, I became very curious. And when we were together at the meeting, I was fascinated by the passion I saw in you when you spoke Italian."

"Italian language tends to have that effect, you know," I uttered.

"Esme speaks Italian," he observed, still smiling. "I've never felt that way around her. And then you had to order fucking oysters, of all things."

"They're just food," I said, briefly recalling the sexy show when he was eating them.

"You're doing it again," he complained.

"Doing what?"

"Teasing me. It's maddening as hell. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I thought if we had sex, it would help me get you out of my head." His eyes momentarily grew darker, sending unwelcome tingles to my body. "It didn't. If anything, it only made it worse."

I wanted to say that I felt the same but decided against it, still unsure where he was going with all this.

"I was busy like hell with this house, with work, but I've always been good at time management. So I came up with a plan."

"Of course you did," I said. "You're an architect, after all."

He chuckled. "It's true. All my life, I've had everything planned. And it always worked for me... until yesterday."

I bit my lip. Here we were.

"I was really angry first. I didn't understand what went wrong when everything seemed to be just fine. I was angry with you. I was angry with myself for not seeing it sooner, when a crisis could have been averted. You have no idea how many times I'd been there before, yet you caught me completely off guard. It was something you said... something that nobody has ever told me. You said, "I love you."

His burning eyes searched mine, searched my soul, my heart. It was a torture; I wanted to look away, to hide, but I had to face this—face him. I wasn't going to take my words back—I was stronger than that—so I silently held his gaze.

"I was lost and confused," he said, turning away at last. "So I decided to sleep on it. But when I went to bed, suddenly I felt an awful pain in my chest." He winced and took a deep breath. "It was so bad I thought I might be having a heart attack for real."

My own heart seemed to have stopped beating.

"I got up, shaking like a fucking leaf because I thought I was dying, took a taxi, and went to a hospital. And you know what?" He chuckled darkly. "They said I'm healthy as horse and gave me Tylenol PM."

I released the breath I was holding. "Thank God."

"I spent the rest of the night roaming around the city until I found myself leaning against the railing in Battery Park. Have you ever been there at night?"

I shook my head.

"It is very calm. Quiet. Peaceful, even. Everything seems so far away. I stood there staring at the water, and I sort of meditated. And then I saw my own life from another perspective." There was a new emotion in his voice I failed to recognize. "All my life, I did nothing but seeking pleasure in any form—food, sex, art, music… But no matter how hard I tried, it didn't make me happy; I only got bored. I built this house but instead of becoming my happy place, it isolated me. Instead of making me feel free, these glass walls made me their prisoner."

He paused and his eyes met mine again. "Then you came and brought the colors with you and everything has changed. Every day I woke up feeling happy for no reason. It felt like all my senses became heightened; I started enjoying simple things. I enjoyed the smell of coffee, I enjoyed the shower, I enjoyed music... I can't even begin to explain about sex. It has never felt like that for me before. I used to think sex was the key all along, but you know the strangest thing? When I tried to recall the best moment of my life, I thought about the night we were playing Twister and making out on my couch." He reached for my hand. Spellbound, I looked at his thumb tenderly rubbing my knuckles. "I've never lied to you. I was just so blinded by my selfishness that I didn't see the obvious." He paused again, and as my eyes flickered back to his, the intensity in them was enormous. "It has always been _more_ for me."

My heart somersaulted and started fluttering in my chest; suddenly there was not enough air in the whole forest. I opened my mouth to say something but I had no words, only my lips involuntarily curled into a silly smile.

"I'm happy now," he whispered. "I've missed your smile so much." He reached out slowly, his fingertips brushing against my cheek. I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of his touch. It made no sense, but this somehow mattered much more than all the sex in the world.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out. My eyes flew open and I was momentarily taken aback by his pained expression.

"I was watching you fading away and I didn't realize it was my own doing." His hands gently cupped my face. "I'm so sorry."

I couldn't fight myself anymore. Still speechless, I wrapped my arms around him, and he buried his nose in my hair with a deep contented sigh. "I've missed your smell. Every Monday, I want to kill my maid—she changes the sheets."

I laughed. "That's kind of gross."

"I'm not used to it—missing someone. Wanting someone so much that everything else ceases to matter. I tried to fight it but it's stronger than me." He pulled away, taking my hands, his eyes anxious. "I don't want freedom if it's freedom to be alone."

"So where do we go from here?" I whispered, weaving my fingers through his.

"I don't know. We have tried it my way and it didn't work out. Let's try it your way and see what happens." He smiled warmly.

I couldn't help but smile back. "Sounds like a plan."

He shook his head, frowning slightly. "You have to understand. All my life, I've had a plan. Devoting my time to another person wasn't a part of that plan. I need to figure out how to find a new balance. It's hard for me to get over my lifetime habits but I really want to. I need you to trust me."

"I trust you."

"No you don't. You freaked on me."

"I—" I shuddered at the memory. "That was—a long time ago."

"I'm afraid not much has changed since," he said softly. "I want to try something."

He reached for my scarf, gently pulling it off my neck.

"No," I gasped, grabbing his hand. "I won't let you tie me again."

"No." He caressed my hair with his free hand. "I'm not ready to try _that_ again, even if you ask me. Someday, maybe, but not now. But I want to blindfold you."

"What?" I gasped again.

"Shhh." He pressed his index finger to my lips. "We're alone in the forest. There are about thirty steps from here to the car. I want you to let me lead you there. It's a simple technique."

I still gaped at him, trying to process his words. It was true—deep inside, I wasn't sure if I could trust him completely. He was unpredictable. But I wanted to. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to go down the stairs and then to the car. Not being restrained, I could take the scarf away anytime if it would become uncomfortable. And damn it if I wasn't up for a challenge.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

He flashed a cheerful smile. "This is why I adore you. You're always rebelling, even against your own nature. Always trying to prove how strong and independent you are. I knew it the very second I saw you. It seems I've always known you. Even before we met."

"I'm not strong," I said.

"I know." He chuckled.

"And I don't want to be independent."

"I know." He folded the scarf. "Let's get away from here."

I gave a nod, closing my eyes. He tucked my hair behind my ears before wrapping the scarf around my head, not too tight. "See anything?"

I tried to open my eyes. My scarf was light, so there was no darkness; everything was just blurry. "No."

"Don't cheat." He took my both hands. "Let's get up." When I rose, he released me. "Stand still. I'll lock the door."

I heard the keys clanking, then my hand was in his again. "Ready?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're on top of the stairs. There are ten steps down. I'm holding you. I won't let you fall."

I smiled. "Okay."

"Now let's go. Slowly. Carefully."

And I did it. Squeezing his hand so tight it probably hurt, I took ten steps down.

"Well done," he cheered me on. "Turn to the right. We're almost there."

It was surprisingly easy. I had no control and I actually liked it; it was nice knowing there was another person in charge of my own movements.

"A few more steps," he said, and I relaxed. I really shouldn't have because the next thing I knew, I was up in the air, squealing.

He laughed and put me down, removing the scarf. I blinked.

"Hey." He leaned closer, skimming my nose with his. Happy sparkles danced in his eyes; he looked so careless, so young. "Not too bad, huh?"

"No, not at all." I grinned.

"Now I'm hungry. Let's go find some place to eat."

"Thank you for sharing," I said as we were driving back to the main road. "It really means a lot to me."

He nodded with a smile.

"You know, there is one thing that doesn't really fall into place." I paused, fiddling with my scarf. "How could you enjoy being restrained? I mean, for someone who is that much afraid of losing his freedom—"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said thoughtfully. "I was wondering that myself. Our subconscious is a tricky thing. But I think it worked that way because of you. You make my fears go away." He gave me a quick glance and reached out for my hand, kissing my knuckles. And if my heart wasn't already his, it would definitely have surrendered now.

Shortly, we pulled over to a small town diner and nestled in a booth there, his arm around my waist.

"You must be tired," I murmured, leaning closer to him.

"Too excited to feel tired just yet. Besides, I'm used to functioning on no sleep." He nuzzled into my hair and took a deep breath. "You?"

"A bit." I stifled a yawn.

He sighed. "I'm sorry about your loss."

"He's at a better place," I said quietly. "This thought really helped me through this week. Sal deserved it, of all people. And it was he who told me to be honest with you about my feelings."

"He wanted you to be happy. I owe him that."

"If he could see me now, he'd be proud. Thank you so much for being there for me when I needed you. I don't know how I'd survive it without you and your support."

"Thank you for letting me." He planted a light kiss on my temple. "Will you tell me more about your trip?"

"Not now."

"Not now."

I wasn't hungry, but I couldn't resist as he tried to feed me his burger and French fries, his care making me want to cry and kiss him senseless at the same time. We drove home in comfortable silence, sharing glances and smiles and touching hands and knees. He pulled up to my building and opened the passenger door for me, leaning on the car leisurely, grinning. "So... when do I see you again?"

I tensed. Now that I knew about his loan and everything, how could I demand more of his time? "You are busy with work and this house and I don't—"

He shook his head. "I always do what I want, remember? And I want to go on a date with you."

I raised my brow. "A date?"

"I want more with you. With all I have in me. But I don't even know what _more_ implies. So let's start with a date."

I pondered. "I think I need some time to wrap my head around all this. Some "me" time, you know?"

He nodded. "Not too long, please."

"Um, Monday I'll be dead at work, that's for sure... Tuesday, perhaps, too..."

"Wednesday," he said. "Let's have a date on Wednesday."

"Fine," I finally gave up. "But still, how—"

"Don't worry about it. I work a lot, but I told you I'm good at time management." He winked. "As for the house, it's finished except for the interior design, but I think I'll let Esme have carte blanche with it."

"Oh," I said. "She'll be very glad."

He kissed me finally, his lips softly caressing mine. Then he took my hand and put something cold into my palm, closing my fingers around it. I looked into his eyes, the mixture of tenderness and determination.

When I unclasped my hand, there was a key.

And even though he didn't return the three words I told him yesterday, they were unnecessary. I knew he felt it. I knew it because I also felt like I knew him. Like I'd known him all my life. So maybe my grandmother's beautiful story about soulmates was true, after all—we would just have to wait and see.


	16. Chapter 16

Alice called me on Sunday morning. "You okay? Jake told me about your stepfather. I'm so sorry."

"I'm fine." My throat constricted and I took a deep breath. "Exhausted, but life goes on, I suppose."

"I'm here if you need to talk." She paused. "Or a shoulder to cry on."

"Thank you." I clasped my phone between my shoulder and my ear, trying to whisk eggs at the same time. "Not sure about all that, but a couple of drinks would be nice. I miss you, Al."

"I miss you too. It's been ages since we last hung out. I'd say let's do this Friday, but you're usually busy on Fridays—not that I'm accusing you or anything."

I bit on my lip, suddenly unsure if yesterday was real or I dreamed it all. I put the bowl with eggs aside and stormed into my bedroom, opening the top drawer of my nightstand. The sigh of relief escaped me when I saw the key. Real.

"Bella, you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry." I pushed the drawer closed. "Um... perhaps I can do this Friday." I had no idea how often Edward planned on seeing me, but I wasn't going to depend on his plans anymore. We would either work things out together, coordinating our schedules, or it wouldn't work at all.

"Can you?" Alice asked incredulously. "Everything alright?"

"We're trying to take our relationship to the next level." I rubbed my face. Even if it wasn't a dream, today things didn't look quite as rosy as they did yesterday. I wanted to trust Edward, but what were the odds that he wouldn't shield himself with walls again at some point?

"Oh. My. God." I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Tell me more!"

I frowned. "I will, but not now. It's been a rough week and I need to collect my thoughts first."

"I understand," she said reassuringly. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine. I have faith in you. And please send my condolences to your mom. How is she?"

"She's managing," I said. "It's harder because she's left alone in Rome. Her cousins live in Sicily—that's pretty far away. She's got friends, but it's not the same. Family has always been the most important part of her life, so I don't know." I swallowed. "Anyway, I gotta go. It feels like I'm going to faint if I don't eat something right now. See you Friday?"

"Friday it is."

When we hung up, I hurried back to the kitchen. My legs felt so weak I was afraid I'd faint for real. Damn it, what was wrong with me? I couldn't be bothered with eggs anymore; I just grabbed a spoon and started eating cereal straight from the box. Then I made a cup of coffee and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—thankfully, in my Edward-induced haze, I didn't forget to get groceries yesterday. Feeling more or less full, I dragged my ass into the living room and settled on the couch.

I turned on the TV and tried to relax, lazily flipping through channels, but it was impossible. I felt uneasy. Something was eating me and I failed to grasp what it was—I wanted more with Edward, and he said yes; moreover, he bared his soul to me, so what was wrong? Maybe it all was just too overwhelming, maybe my brain finally decided to break down after such a rough week? It was annoying because I was supposed to sort things out before meeting with Edward again, but instead, I was a total mess. Besides, I was supposed to enjoy some "me" time, but that was impossible too because I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. I wasn't in the mood to bake or cook, and I didn't have an interesting book to read. Finally, I gave up and opened my laptop to discover two things.

First, there were one hundred and forty unread mails in my work email inbox. I groaned.

And second, there was a Facebook friend request from Edward Masen.

When I arrived at work Monday morning, I was instantly cheered up by a dozen baby pink roses.

"Good morning." I could hear him smile as he answered the phone.

"It isn't that good, really." I shot a glance to the mountain of papers on my desk and sighed. "But someone has just made it significantly better."

"Oh, yeah?" He chuckled.

"Thank you. For the flowers and for caring."

"You're welcome, Isabella. And I mean it."

It was strange how the mere sound of his voice seemed to alleviate my tension. I should have called him yesterday.

"I—" I began but the phone on my desk started ringing. "Damn, I gotta go. It's been hell over here."

"I'll call you later."

He called me when I was at home having a bath with a glass of Chardonnay. We talked until my bath got cold; he asked me about my mom and Sal, and I couldn't hold back the tears as I told him stories of our times together.

"Are you crying?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Are you a sadist?" I snorted, sniffling.

"Tears are good for the soul," he said softly. "They are purifying. I wish I could cry sometimes."

"Can't you?"

"Big boys don't cry, Isabella." His voice was dry.

He called me again on Tuesday. It was half past ten and he was still at work. "Tomorrow is our date, remember?"

I grinned. "Sure thing. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. I'll pick you up at five sharp. Don't be late." He was suddenly serious and all bossy. "Please," he added. "It's important that we arrive on time."

I decided since we were trying something new, breaking a life-long habit of being late was totally worth it. Wednesday, I even skipped lunch to be done with all my tasks by five. At four fifty five, I put on my coat and headed to the elevators, squeezing myself into one along with the crowd of people working on my floor.

"Hold it, please." Jessica came running up to the elevator. "Thank you." She pressed the first floor button, turning to me. "Bella, leaving early today?"

I nodded. "I'm working on improving my time management skills."

"That's awesome. I totally should, too. Any plans for tonight?"

"Um... I'm meeting with someone."

"Oh, I see."

An unwelcome thought passed through my mind: what if Edward is late? Should I stay outside and wait? How weird would that be?

I really should have known better than to assume that. He was the first thing I saw as we emerged into the street, a tall figure in a dark gray suit leaning against the yellow cab, his hands in his pants' pockets.

"Holy hell," Jessica said. "What is Edward Masen doing here? Have I fucked up Banner's schedule?"

He noticed me and grinned wide, taking off his sunglasses.

"Bye, Jessica," I said, not caring about anything in the world anymore when my eyes met his. Now it was just the two of us and I would deal with everything else later.

"Hi." My grin mirrored his.

"Hi, beautiful." He opened the taxi door and followed after me into a back seat, clasping both my hands in his. "You're cold."

"Am I?" I whispered, taking him in as though for the very first time. I wanted to touch him and kiss him and wrap my arms around him so tight it would hurt, but we were in a cab in front of my office.

He chuckled, rubbing my knuckles. "Tired?'

I nodded. "And hungry."

"Good. Me too."

The car moved slowly in the afternoon traffic. We didn't talk, just kept exchanging glances and smiles. It felt good; my worries had disappeared as if by magic. Perhaps he also had the ability to make my fears go away.

The restaurant he had taken me to was a small old-fashioned place in a theatre district with live blues playing softly in the background.

"I'm thinking steak and red wine," he said as we settled at our table.

I nodded, feeling suddenly shy for no reason. He placed our order; when a waiter appeared with our wine, he raised his glass. "To us. To the new beginning."

I smiled, relishing the rich bouquet of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

He reached across the table, covering my hand with his. "And most of all, to your brave heart, Isabella, which is why we're here tonight in the first place."

"Stop calling me Isabella," I snapped so suddenly I surprised myself.

His eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"God, nobody calls me that... it's too formal. Even my boss calls me Bella. Isabella is for business partners." I frowned.

He traced his chin with his thumb, looking confused. "I thought it was beautiful. But you are right. I'm not your business partner anymore." He chuckled lightly. "Our agreement has been terminated. And I like _Bella_. I remember you said it was for your friends. I want to be your friend."

I raised my brow. "A friend?"

"A boyfriend." He was staring at me intently, trying hard to suppress a smile but failing miserably.

"My boyfriend?" I teased him.

"Yes."

"Hmm."

"Bella." He shook his head. "I know what you're doing."

"I'm just trying to figure it out. You do realize what kind of commitment you're making right now, don't you?" I turned my hand palm up and intertwined our fingers, wrestling with him playfully.

"I most certainly do—I've had a lot of time to think about it." His voice was tender and his hand easily yielded to my pressure. "I want to spend all my spare time with you. I want holidays and vacations together. I want everyone to know you're my significant one and I'm yours."

Emotions swelled up in my chest. I couldn't take my eyes off his, as if afraid to break the spell. _Mine_, my heart screamed.

"I want to introduce you properly to my friends. Actually, I can't wait for Emmett to find out—his reaction is gonna be priceless." He laughed, looking so relaxed. "And I want to finally meet your friends and family. I'm ready to face the wrath for not showing up before. I deserve it."

"By the way, I'm meeting with Alice this Friday," I said warily. "You're welcome to join us."

His expression didn't alter. "Is that a yes?"

I wanted to reach out and caress his face but we were separated by the table and in a room full of people. Oh the irony—we finally had a _normal_ public date and all I wanted was to snuggle on his sofa.

I nodded. "So that's official, huh?"

"Absofuckinglutely." He was wearing a smug grin—now that was an Edward I knew. He glanced at his watch. "They'd better hurry up with our food. I don't want us to be late."

"Late for what?" I looked at him quizzically.

"Don't worry—it's something you'll enjoy."

Thankfully, our dinner arrived shortly. When we were finished, he helped me with my coat and placed his hand on my waist as we went outside. "It's a short walk."

We went up on Broadway, crazy as usual with tourists, until he motioned for me to turn left and I knew exactly where we were going. "Oh my God. We're seeing _Wicked_!" I squealed.

"Well, I wanted to ask you to wear that green dress, but I was afraid it'd ruin the surprise."

"Who are you and what have you done to Edward Masen?" I stepped on tiptoe and kissed his smile, not caring that we were in the middle of a busy New York City street.

He snorted. "He has deceased. Drowned in the Hudson last Friday night."

The show was fabulous. It had always been, but I'd never had a chance to enjoy it from the orchestra section before. And there had never been a beautiful man beside me whose eyes shone with excitement and whose hand played with mine on my knee. My _boyfriend_.

"Thank you," I said as we went out to the street. "That was amazing. The best date I've ever had."

"Was?" He shook his head, a smile never leaving his lips. "It's not over yet. Now we're going to have our desserts."

He took me to the Cheesecake Factory and fed me something that had fudge, peanut butter, and chocolate in it, and if that wasn't perfection, then I don't know what is.

Afterward, he caught a taxi and held the door open for me. "Thank you for this evening."

"And that's it?" I asked. "You're not coming?"

"It's our first date." He smirked. "I'm not the kind of guy to have sex on a first date."

"Oh, I see." Frustration was palpable in the air between us. "So you're just going to let this unknown man drive me into the New York City night?"

He leaned closer, holding my gaze, and before I knew it, he was kissing me, passion and longing and possession and sweet tenderness. I traced my fingers over the perfect planes of his face, needing to feel him, to make sure he was real, to read him by touching like blind men do.

"Are you going or not?" the taxi driver grumbled.

I pulled away, breathless. "Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight, Bella." He stepped back and pushed the door close. "See you soon."

The car started off; I leaned against the shabby leather seat and closed my eyes, unable to stop smiling. I could still feel his kiss on my lips. _My boyfriend._ It would take me awhile to get used to the sound of it. There was still a long way to go from here, but I wasn't going to rush it. I wasn't even sure if he was ready to meet Dad. Okay, scratch that—I wasn't sure if _I _was ready for him meeting Dad. And to tell the truth, I just wanted to have him all for myself. What happened between us when we were alone was the only thing that really mattered, though it was so damn good to know I was officially Edward's girlfriend. _Significant one_, as he had put it.

The next day, in the bathroom I ran into Jessica. When I stepped out of the stall, she was waiting by the sink, pretending to be washing her hands. "So... you and Edward Masen." I could tell she was dying from curiosity. "How long have you two been doing this... thing?"

Had she asked me something like that a week ago, I would undoubtedly inform her it was none of her fucking business. Lucky for her, today nothing could darken my mood, even if I hadn't slept for a minute last night, reliving the happy moments. "Actually, this thing is new." I didn't even have to lie to her. "Yesterday was our first date."

"It must have been that dress," she said with a tight smile. "Green becomes you."

"Yeah," I nodded, trying hard to hold back the laughter. Bitch, please. "I'm sure it was. Green is the new red. Pippa Middleton was wearing green for Royal Wedding."

She looked at me like I was crazy—and I probably was.

Friday night, Edward was about to pick me up at my place. I didn't tell Alice he would be accompanying me; deep inside, there was a nagging thought that he might stand me up again. I wanted to trust him with all I had in me... but I just couldn't. Hope for the best but expect the worst, they say.

Hoping for the best, I slipped on a black lace lingerie set, black thigh highs, and a black wrap dress. I couldn't get over black just yet, but I fancied it up a bit with my string of pearls. I was applying lip gloss when the intercom buzzed.

"Yes."

"It's me."

"Come on in." I mentally added a few points in Edward's favor.

He was dressed sharp as usual—black tailored suit, white button-down, black narrow tie. "Hey." He pulled me into a tight hug, nuzzling my neck. "You smell so good."

"It's Chanel," I informed him, my heart fluttering from his touch and the warmth of his breath on my skin.

He chuckled, stepping back. "It's Bella. Ready to go?"

"Five minutes." I reached out and pulled at the knot of his tie. "I think this is unnecessary."

"Bella," he exhaled, his pupils dilating instantly. He caught my hands and pressed them to his chest. "Stop undressing me or we won't get to meet your friends tonight."

I sighed, realizing I was simply stalling, and went to the closet to retrieve my boots. He hummed in appreciation when I put them on. "What is it about high-heeled boots?"

"Let's hope they won't kill me," I muttered.

We were supposed to meet in the SoHo Room—a bar which we loved for its casual ambience and awesome cocktails. I definitely needed one of those. I called Alice; she and Jasper were on their way, so we settled on the banquette in the back lounge and placed our orders. Edward's hand rested on my shoulder, gently bringing me closer to him.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked when a waitress brought our drinks.

I took a sip of my Cosmo, a pleasant warmth spreading inside. "Very good."

"Me, too." He placed his Corona on the table and caressed my hair. "Though I don't like the way some guys are staring at you. That makes me feel..." He broke off.

I glanced around, meeting several people's curious eyes. "How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know..." He softly kissed my temple. "Possessive? It's a primal instinct, I suppose."

"I'm sorry for interrupting you."

I lifted my eyes to find Alice standing in front of us, her eyes wide. By her side, Jasper was grinning. A pregnant pause hung in the air; Jasper was the first to break it, coming over to give me a warm hug. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi, Al, Jazz... Um, this is Edward," I stuttered.

She arched her eyebrow. "I can see that. We've met before... though in slightly different circumstances."

"Nice to see you again, Alice." Edward flashed a cunning, undisturbed smile, rising to hug her and shake hands with Jasper.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock," Jasper said. "Alice's husband."

"Edward Masen. Bella's boyfriend."

My heart skipped a beat and I chew on my lip, hiding a smile. It didn't escape Alice; her eyes gleamed with excitement. "I need a drink, guys," she said, finally taking a seat across the table.

The night went on. We were making small talk; I briefly told my friends about my week in Italy and they suggested helping find Mom a grief management therapy. Then we talked about lighter stuff and Alice theatrically told us a horror story about baking a cake for the first time in her life.

Edward was seemingly relaxed beside me, his tension only displaying in the way his fingers gripped his beer bottle. When I was about to order my third Cosmo, he stopped me. "I don't want you drunk," he whispered into my ear, his voice deep and seductive. My blood started running faster in my veins, momentarily intoxicated by something stronger than liquor. I looked into his eyes, welcoming the tingling sensation his intense stare gave me.

"Edward, may I steal Bella for a moment?" Alice asked, making me turn to find her smirking. "Girl talk."

"Sure." Reluctantly, he let me go.

We went outside; it was slightly chilly and I shivered. "Thank you for not giving him a hard time," I said.

"I'm holding back, really." She pursed her lips. "He deserves it, though you deserve it too for putting up with his shit."

I shrugged. "It was fine with me in the beginning, you know. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship. I wanted some time and space for myself... to collect the pieces that were missing and become a self-sufficient person. I didn't want to depend on anyone." Two Cosmos appeared to have made me quite eloquent.

Alice nodded. "You've got to be whole if you want to share yourself with someone else. Who needs an empty shell?"

"Oyster metaphor?" I snorted, rolling the pearls on my neck in my fingers.

"Completely unintentional."

"Anyway, I think I'm ready to share," I said.

"You've changed a lot since last year," Alice observed.

"I have. I've finally realized that being single is not the worst thing that could happen to me." I took a deep breath. "I broke it off with Edward last Friday. I just couldn't do it anymore, so I told him I loved him and said goodbye. Saturday morning, he was at my door and we had a talk." I refrained from telling Alice about the house—it wasn't my secret to tell. "To put it in a nutshell, he wants us to have a functional relationship based on trust—and here we are."

"That's a huge step for him, Bella." Alice's gaze, slightly worried, met mine. "Has he ever been in one before?"

I shook my head. "He had other priorities in life."

"He has a lot to catch up, then." She stroked my upper arm. "But I'm sure he'll do just fine. He's head over heels in love with you—trust me, I know it when I see it."

"He didn't say the words." I pouted, feeling childish and silly.

"He will," Alice said confidently, making me wonder why she became team Edward all of a sudden. "Just don't be afraid to let him in."

"I'm not afraid, Al."

"Your body language says otherwise." She smiled timidly, as if apologizing.

"What do you mean?"

"I was watching you two—merely out of habit; it's not easy to switch off your inner shrink. He's clinging to you for dear life and you're pulling away when he gets too close."

"What? No!" I gasped. "That's because we're in a public place." It wasn't true. I didn't do that. Not consciously, at least. His words suddenly resurfaced in my head: _Why do you always shy away from me? Why don't you let me in?_

"Fuck," I muttered.

"Just think about it, Bella," Alice said, taking my hand. "You're cold. Let's go back—the boys must have lost us."

We found them busy watching football on a big screen, looking pretty comfortable with each other. "What took you so long?" Edward asked, his hand sneaking around my waist.

"Girl talk." I leaned against him, catching Alice's watchful eye. "It doesn't look like you've missed me here."

"Oh, I have." He took my hand and lightly bit at the inner side of my wrist, making me squirm as sensations spread all over my body, anticipation building, making me desperate to be alone with him.

"You two, get a room!" Alice laughed as if she had read my mind.

"Actually, that's a very good idea." Edward looked at me, fires blazing in his eyes. "Let's go home, huh?"

I nodded.

"Your place or my place?" he asked once we got into a cab.

It was really nice to have a choice. "My place."

Thankfully, it was a short ride—he was peppering kisses on the back of my hand and it was really hard to restrain myself from behaving improperly.

"Tired?" he asked as I fumbled with the keys to my apartment.

"No," I lied, finally opening the door. I let him in and switched on the lights in the hall.

"Yes," he whispered, kissing me softly. "Let's get you into bed." His fingers made quick work of undoing my coat buttons and he pulled it off my shoulders. My knees started buckling when he squatted down in front of me to unzip my boots. He made me step out of them and lifted me up in a swift motion, wrapping my legs around his waist.

"You work out a lot," I said as he carried me to my bedroom.

He chuckled, stopping to turn on the wall lights. "I do."

He sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor between my legs, his look strangely anxious. "Bella, I—"

"Shhh." I leaned forward, pressing my index finger to his lips. "Don't say anything." I caressed his face, his hair; he closed his eyes, breathing heavily, his thumbs drawing circles on my knees.

"I've never had sex on this bed," I confessed in a whisper.

His eyes flew open, his hands gripping onto me like I was his anchor. "I don't have condoms," he exhaled. "I wasn't planning to... but I can go get them."

"Don't go." It was a plea; my voice trembled from the tension. I wasn't able to let him go, even for a moment. "On the pill, remember?"

"You sure you want this?"

"I just want to be with you." I grasped at his tie, pulling him closer to me until he rose from the floor and rested his knees on the bed either side of mine.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his fingers traveling down my clavicle, stopping at my pounding heart. I was basking in the depth of his gaze and I felt beautiful. Cherished. _Loved._

My eyes didn't leave his as our hands continued pulling away our clothes, wandering over heated skin. When our bodies had finally connected, it felt somewhat different, not as much physically as emotionally. It was something so special, something that meant so much more than just sex. It was like I could feel what he was feeling, like I knew what he was thinking because it was transparent in his stare, raw and intense, growing with each movement of his hips. It was twisting inside my chest, turning me into an emotional mess, cracking my last remaining inhibitions and breaking through my shields.

I didn't fight it this time.

I let him in.

And when he cried out my name, it reverberated in every cell of my body.

I had never felt so good.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, we lay silent for a while. My fingers were lazily stroking his soft hair, unable to stop touching him.

He lifted his head from my chest, grinning happily, reached out and brushed his knuckles against my cheek. "Shower or bath?"

"Shower." I grinned back.

Fresh and clean and wrapped in the towels, we stood in front of a bathroom mirror and he was drying my hair. Once he was finished, I opened a cabinet, looking for a new toothbrush, and a sudden thought occurred to me. "Oh. Your contacts!"

He kissed me. "Brilliant idea. Thank you." Leaning closer to the mirror, he removed his contacts, discarding them into the trash can.

I left him in the bathroom as he was finishing brushing his teeth and fished into my dresser, searching for something nice to sleep in.

"What are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the door post.

"Getting ready to sleep."

He stalked toward me, his bare feet padding on the floor, and gently pushed the drawer closed. "Who said we're going to sleep?"

The morning light found me wrapped tightly in Edward's arms. I stirred but his hold didn't let up, so I turned to face him and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He blinked, opening his eyes. "Good morning," he murmured with a smile.

"Morning. How are you?"

He finally shifted his weight, but only to press me to the bed, hovering over me. "Horny."

I chuckled. "I can feel that."

He sighed and his lips found my throat, moving down slowly. Now that was a _good_ morning. What I wouldn't give to have every day start like this.

I was making breakfast when he entered the kitchen. "I hate wearing yesterday's underwear," he complained, placing his hands on my hips barely covered by his shirt. "And my shirt is missing."

"You don't have to wear anything at all," I made a point.

He chuckled, rubbing his nose against mine. "This depends on what you want to do today."

"You know what I want to do," I breathed.

"You better feed me then. I'm hungry."

I made Nutella sandwiches and cappuccinos and crawled onto his lap, feeding him.

"You're spoiling me," he hummed.

I grinned. "You deserve it."

He looked away, staring out the window. "I'm thinking... It's such a lovely day. How about we take a walk? We could go to my place, I'd change and shave and put on my contacts, and then we could have a picnic in Central Park."

My brow arched in surprise. "A picnic? In Central Park?"

He tilted his head, looking confused. "You don't like it? Is that too... cheesy?"

"It's not cheesy. It's lovely." I kissed him swiftly. "It's just... unexpected."

His lips curled up. "For me, too. You need to tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

"You're doing fine. I'm happy right now, can't you see that?"

He gave a slight nod, his expression suddenly serious. "I want to always see you happy, Bella. Always."

Next Friday night, we were waiting for Emmett in Edward's apartment. I was in the living room, my stomach in knots, when the doorbell rang.

"Em, I want you to meet someone," I heard Edward say. I unclenched my fists, reminding myself about body language.

The door opened and they entered the room. Emmett's brows shot up almost comically when he saw me. "Ms. Swan."

"Bella," Edward corrected him, coming to stand behind me, his hands finding my waist. "My girlfriend."

I smiled sheepishly. "Hi."

Emmett's eyes widened and his jaw slightly dropped—exactly the reaction Edward had been anticipating. He recovered quickly, though. "I knew it," he exclaimed, punching Edward's shoulder. "I knew you were hiding someone!" He grinned at me. "You should have seen his face when he was talking on the phone in his bedroom voice."

Edward groaned and I chuckled. "I can imagine."

"And it's you." Emmett shook his head. "Beautiful and smart. Nice to meet you again, Bella!"

I blushed, reaching out for a handshake, but he pulled me out of Edward's arms into a hug. "If this asshole hurts you, just tell me, and I'll deal with him."

"Thank you." I laughed. It was a bit too much, too warm a greeting. In my experience, my boyfriends' friends used to be indifferent with me, or merely tolerating. But then again, Emmett was more than a friend; Edward mentioned that his colleagues were like a family to him—a loving family he hadn't had when he was a child.

And now I was only hoping I would live up to their expectations.

* * *

**Thanks to Katie1824 for giving me her time and effort and to Fliki for patting my head :)**


	17. Chapter 17

"It's so beautiful. I love it."

We were at an art gallery and I was staring at the painting of a sunlit poppy field, unable to take my eyes off the perfect harmony of bright colors. It was a rainy Saturday in the end of October and the landscape was practically brimming with summer heat.

"You can have it." Edward wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, locking our intertwined hands on my stomach. "It's not sold yet."

I snorted. "Sixty hundred bucks? Let me check my balance."

"Well..." He leaned in, placing a quick kiss on my right cheek. "I still owe you a birthday present."

"What?" I turned my head to meet his eyes. "No, you don't. Don't even think about it."

"Bella," he began, but the ringing of my cell interrupted him.

"Sorry," I said, digging into my purse. "It's my mom"

He stepped back, giving me some space.

"Hi, Mom! How are you today?"

We talked with Mom every day. She was significantly better—grief management had been helpful—but she still felt very lonely. Being single by your own choice was one thing; losing your other half was something entirely different.

"Hi, honey." She sounded cheery. "I'm good. Just got back from my session. What are you up to?"

"Um... hanging out at galleries, swooning at pretty pictures. Just the usual." I still hadn't told her I had a boyfriend. She hadn't asked about my personal life for a while and I wasn't sure if pushing my happiness into her face was the right thing to do just yet.

"I see." She paused. "You know, sweetie, I've been thinking... And today I've made a decision."

"A decision?"

"I'm moving back to New York. I want to be near you."

Not that it was completely unexpected—I had considered such possibility—but she still managed to surprise me. "Oh!"

"Just imagine: we will spend so much time together!"

"That would be awesome," I managed.

"I need to wrap up some things here," she said excitedly. "I think I'll be ready to move by mid-November."

"Something's wrong?" Edward asked softly as I hung up.

I looked into his eyes. "Not really. I don't know."

"What is it?"

"Mom has decided to move here. Don't get me wrong; I know it's the best thing for her. I miss her, too—but I don't think I can live with her." I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I'm 30 for Christ's sake. I love her and I really want us to be friends, but—"

"Bella." He rested his hands on my shoulders, sudden determination in his gaze. "You don't have to explain. I can understand how you feel."

"I just need to rant," I said, exasperated. "I don't know what to do."

"Why don't you move in with me?"

"What?" I gaped at him.

A smile crossed his features and he lightly squeezed my shoulders. "I mean it. I'm tired of sleepovers."

It had been less than a month since we started a new routine. We would have dinner on Wednesdays, then we would meet on Friday nights either at his or my place and spend weekends together. Deep inside l wanted more, but all things considered, it was great progress. I didn't expect Edward to be ready to jump to the next level so quickly. "Are you sure?" I mumbled. "Isn't it tad early?"

He chuckled. "Early? I've known you since February. Long enough to become aware I want to wake up with you every day."

"I have a cat." I didn't know why I had said it.

"And we get along pretty well." He caressed my cheek. "He enjoyed his stay, and I thought you said the week you spent with me was the best time of your life."

"That's true." I gave a slight nod. "But moving is a different thing. I'll invade your territory. I'll occupy your bathroom cabinet with my... err... girly stuff. I'll cook in your pristine kitchen."

"I'm looking forward to home-made dinners and I have a large closet." He cupped my face, gently causing me to tilt my head up, locking his eyes with mine. "I want you with all your girly stuff and your Tigger pajamas and your cat. What should I do to make you believe that?" There were notes of desperation in his voice.

"I believe you," I whispered. Because I did.

And that was it.

The next Saturday, I found myself sitting on my living room floor, trying to fight both the feeling of _deja vu_ and overwhelming panic. My things were scattered all over the carpet, refusing to organize themselves into _take_, _leave_, and _maybe_ piles. My mind was racing as I aimlessly moved stuff from place to place, and the fact that couldn't get any sleep last night wasn't helpful either.

The buzz of intercom brought me back to earth. I pushed the button and unlocked the door, waiting for Edward to come up.

"Hey." He smiled as he took me in. "Ready?"

I wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face in his chest. "No."

"Need any help?" He caressed my hair.

With a deep sigh, I pulled away and motioned for him to follow me into the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"I have plenty of towels," he said, picking one, my favorite, from the floor and placing it neatly on the chair. "Hmm," he hummed at my red satin bra. "I like this." The bra went to my large suitcase.

I watched impassively as he continued dealing with my belongings in the same fashion; soon there was no more clutter but a few orderly piles and two full suitcases. "There you go," he said, zipping the suitcases up. "It's not like you're moving to another country. You can always come back here and take whatever else you need."

He came over and reached out his hand to help me up; it was then the emotions stirred within me, turning into a huge lump in my throat, and I let out a constrained sob.

Slowly, he squatted down in front of me, his anxious eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face, taking deep calming breaths. "I'm afraid," I croaked into my palms.

"Afraid of what, exactly?" he asked gently.

I pulled my hands away from my face and began picking at my cuticles. Anything to avoid looking at him. "I've lived with a guy before," I confessed. "It didn't work out."

When I finally lifted my eyes, he was wearing a small smile. "I dare to presume it simply was the wrong guy," he said, mirroring my position on the floor.

I shook my head. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

I paused, trying to find the right words to express how I felt. "I'm afraid to lose myself in you."

He furrowed his brow, clearly missing my point.

"I don't like your place," I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "It's cold and gray and just so depressing. There is nothing _me_ about it."

"You can change that." He chuckled, unclasping my hands. "We can do it over. No big deal."

"Really?" I asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. "I can't see why not. Do what you will."

I sighed and pointed at my mug sitting lonely on the coffee table. "This is my favorite mug."

"Bella." His expression became serious. "Perhaps I know shit about relationships, but one thing is crystal clear to me—it won't work out if you keep things to yourself. How am I supposed to know this is your favorite mug if you won't tell me about it? You just watch me put it aside and say nothing, bottling that shit up."

I lowered my eyes, staring at our entwined hands on my lap. I felt like an idiot. I had always let my boyfriends decide for me, too afraid to voice my opinion, too afraid to lose them that I ended up losing myself _in _them. It had been my problem all along.

"Look at me, please."

Drawing in a breath, I bit my lip and met his gaze.

"Talk to me."

"Sometimes I need some "me" time," I said timidly.

He chuckled lightly. "You know I work a lot, don't you? I'm afraid you'll have more "you" time than you need."

I sighed. "True. What if I want to meet with my friends and family?"

"Is there any problem? I thought your friends liked me."

"Can they come over for a drink?" My heart missed a beat.

He nodded. "Sure."

"Can Jacob come?"

His jaw visibly tensed. "Yes."

"I still regret telling you about him, you know," I muttered.

"Anything else?"

I tried to think of something, but my mind was like a blank page. My fears were anything but rational. He was right—it simply was the wrong guy and instead of bringing my negative experience into our relationship, I should learn from it. We both had our issues, but he was ready to deal with his; it was right about time I started dealing with mine. And in the first place, it meant being honest instead of bottling shit up—if anything, we wouldn't have been here at all if I hadn't been honest with him about my feelings. If I could tell him I loved him, surely I could tell him what movie I wanted to see and where I wanted to go on a weekend. Not to mention that it had never been a problem because he was a giver more than a taker.

And then it dawned on me. I used to think it was so easy to be myself with Edward because we'd had a casual, uncomplicated by commitments relationship. But what if it worked that way because he liked me for who I was, with all my girly stuff and silly pajamas and the cat? What if he simply was _the right guy_?

The right guy who cocked his head, staring at me questioningly.

"I love you," I gasped, throwing my arms around his neck. "Take me home."

When we entered Edward's apartment, I put Mr. Puss's carrier on the floor and unlocked it. The cat didn't hesitate; he emerged with his tail up, sniffed the air, and headed straight to the kitchen, looking confident as if he owned the place. We both laughed.

"You should learn from your cat," Edward said, taking my coat. I kicked off my shoes and followed Mr. Puss into the kitchen to discover with amazement that there were boxes of his favorite dry food sitting on the counter and two bowls similar to the ones I had at home in the corner by the window.

"I'm going to take care of you both." Edward leaned against the door, watching me intently.

"I need to unpack, I guess," I breathed, definitely lacking my cat's confidence.

He nodded. "I have a surprise for you. Let's get to it first."

I took his outstretched hand and he led me to the bedroom, pausing at the door. "Close your eyes. Don't cheat."

Feeling anxious, I did as he said. The door squeaked.

"Five steps, Bella. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Now, open."

I blinked, and again, my eyes widening. "Ah. Oh... Oh my God," was all I could manage.

On the wall above the headboard of the bed—the wall that used to be bare—now was a picture. The picture of a sunlit poppy field I had admired at the gallery.

"I'm afraid God has nothing to do with it." He laughed, plopping down on the bed and resting his back against the headboard, his eyes shining in excitement.

"Edward, this is so..." I gasped, pressing my hand to my chest that was suddenly overfilled with emotion. "Thank you."

"Come here." He patted on the bed beside him.

I ignored his gesture, climbing into his lap instead, straddling him. "I'm really speechless."

"It's good to know I can still impress a woman." His lips twitched, hiding a smile and sending a shiver down my spine. "And it's even better to know you're _my_ woman." His hands found my waist, pulling me closer to him, our noses touching. I had to grip onto the headboard either side of his head because I'd lost my balance; I was reeling from his words, his generous present, and the most of all, from the fact that I wouldn't have to leave his side. Because I was his woman and he wanted me here.

We didn't leave the bed for the rest of the weekend.

On Sunday night, I braced myself and called my mom.

"Mom, I need to tell you something important."

"_Tesoro mio,_ don't scare me."

"It's good news, I think." I chewed on my lip, not really knowing how to start. "I have a boyfriend."

She was silent, making me nervous.

"Mom?"

"How long have you been hiding this fact from me?" she asked quietly, sounding so hurt I wanted to slap myself for making her feel that way.

"For a while," I admitted.

"Why?"

"I wasn't sure how serious it was. I didn't want to give you false hope."

"And just how serious is it?

I took a deep breath. "I've moved into his place. I love him, Mom," I was pleading with her to understand. "I should have told you before you decided to come and stay with me, but please don't change your mind. Please. I want to see you more often than two times a year... I miss you. I want us to be friends. Please don't be angry with me." I was once again a ten year-old girl begging her mom not to leave her.

"Oh, sweetheart," she exclaimed. "Of course I'm not angry with you." Her light chuckle made me finally relax. "I'm relieved, actually. And a bit pissed, too—I'm your mother and I'm the last to know my baby girl has fallen in love. What's his name?"

"Edward," I mumbled.

"Well, I can't wait to meet Edward."

A new work week started with a new routine. I had to wake up earlier than I used to because it would take me longer to get to work now. Edward was waking up even earlier than that—he went for a run and to the gym afterward. By the time he returned, I was showered and had breakfast ready. Then he watched CNN while getting dressed and I applied my make-up in the bathroom; we would appear to be perfectly synchronized. At eight sharp, we left the building and shared a cab.

It was a busy week for us both; I would get home at eight and he at nine, tired and hungry. We would order take-out and eat it in front of the TV, and it was good. Normal. Comfortable. On Wednesday, I dozed on his shoulder and he carried me to _our_ bed and I was suddenly not tired anymore. We made love and afterward I couldn't sleep because he was spooning me and it was too hot but I couldn't reach for the air conditioning remote, unwilling to wake him.

Next Monday morning as I stood in front of the open bathroom cabinet, musing at the fact that my stuff now occupied most of it and Edward really didn't freak out, I had an idea. Even if I had somewhat acclimatized to his apartment, I still wanted it to be more cozy. It was right about time to take him on his word and decorate it a bit. So I decided to start with a simple thing—to hang nice curtains in the living room.

"Remember we talked about doing your place over?" I asked timidly when we were waiting for the elevator.

"Sure. Any particular ideas?"

"Well, I..." The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. "I was thinking about hanging curtains in the living room."

"Okay." He took his phone out of his pocket, checking his calendar. "Do you need my help or—"

"I think I can cope with it," I said. "I revamped my apartment last year."

"Well, good then," he said distractedly.

We walked through the lobby in silence. "I'm not coming with you today," he said as we were on the street. "I have a meeting uptown. It's going to be another crazy week—we're bidding on a contract, and I'm afraid I'll have to work on Saturday, too."

"Oh." I frowned.

"Anyway, you'd better find someone to help you." He placed a fleeting kiss on my lips.

"Do you have any color preferences?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's up to you."

Wednesday morning, I called Jacob and asked for his help. After work, we met downtown at the home decor store where I used to buy stuff for my apartment.

"Bells, are you sure this is a good idea?" Jake asked as we were strolling through the drapes and curtains section.

"Why, you don't trust my choice?"

He shook his head. "I do. But it's not my condo."

"Well, he told me he couldn't be bothered, basically. Hmm." I stopped by a peach-colored organza curtain with subtle golden pattern and pulled it from the rack. "I like this. It's so warm. Perfect for winter. What do you think?"

"Um, isn't it a bit too... girly?"

"Bullshit," I snapped. "It's sunny. It will brighten up the room. It's Italian, too."

He nodded with a small smile. "If you say so, Bells. Martha Stewart would be proud."

I punched him playfully in the shoulder. We quickly chose a drapery rod and proceeded to the cashier.

"I hope your boyfriend owns a power tool." Jake snickered as we entered the apartment.

I rolled my eyes at his silly pun. "He sure as hell does." I motioned for him to hang his jacket on the rack and opened the closet door to produce a plastic tool box, wondering if Edward had ever used it.

"It's very nice in here," Jake commented, looking around the living room. "Very light and spacious. And Venetian blinds are quite fitting, you know."

"Are you helping me or not?" I was beginning to feel annoyed with him.

"Sure. Can you bring a ladder?"

I brought a three-step stool and spread the curtains on the sofa, admiring the color.

"Last chance to back out, Bella," Jake said, climbing up, the power tool in hand.

I opened my mouth to say something really snarky when I heard a loud bang of a front door. I froze; we both did. I didn't do anything wrong—why was I suddenly so nervous?

"Bella, you home?" Edward's voice sounded from the hall. The living room door opened, and he froze with his hand on the handle, too. His perplexed look shifted from me to Jake then to the curtains and back to me; his other hand rested against the door post and he took a long breath. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

He didn't shout; his voice was even softer than usual, but his tone was so biting my mouth became dry and my blood ran cold. The air instantly became thick with tension.

"Jake's helping me to hang the curtains," I stammered, unable to place what exactly was off or how to fix it.

"Hi." Jacob saluted.

Edward let out a dry chuckle, and here they were—glass walls and sharp edges. Long time no see. "And this is going to be what, a fucking Barbie house?" he hissed, cold gray eyes penetrating mine.

I stared at him in disbelief. "I bought the fucking curtains because you fucking told me to," I retorted, pointing my index finger at him. "Because _you_ were too fucking busy and just didn't fucking care." I didn't mean it, really, but my defense mechanism worked that way—I wanted to slap him. Hard.

He closed his eyes and took another long breath, then pinched the bridge of his nose and turned quickly on his heel. The study door slammed so hard I thought the walls would collapse; I heard something fall with a hollow thud.

"I think I should go." Jake looked at me apologetically, stepping onto the floor. "I'm sorry."

I nodded, feeling like the air had been punched out of my lungs. When I saw him off to the door, I returned to the living room and stopped by the window, unable to understand what the hell had just happened. We'd never had a fight. Ever. I had absolutely no idea what had gotten into Edward and why it was seemingly my fault. I felt deflated but at the same time so damn pissed.

My train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of my phone. I reached for my purse and glanced at the screen: Alice. Pushing the offending peach-colored material aside, I sat down on the sofa. "Hi, Alice."

"Bella, Jake called me. You alright?" Her voice was concerned yet calming.

"No." I ran my hand down my thigh, straightening my skirt. "I don't know what to do. He's locked himself up in his study and I don't even know if he will talk to me. He's acting like a toddler. Damn it, my nieces are five and their behavior makes more sense."

Alice sighed. "We have already established that Edward has a lot to catch up on the emotional side and from what I know, he's been doing just fine until now. Can you tell me what exactly happened?"

I rubbed my face with my free hand. "I wanted to buy curtains for our living room. I told him about it; he said he was busy and suggested I ask for someone else's help. So I asked Jake because I needed someone to drill the fucking wall..." Realization hit me so suddenly that I gasped. "Oh, shit. Shit."

"What?"

"It's not about fucking curtains," I mumbled. "He's always been so... weird about Jake."

"You think he's jealous?" she asked.

"I'm sure he is, though it makes no sense at all because he knows Jake is gay." I bit my tongue. It sure as hell made a lot of sense in the light of what he knew about our history.

"Hmm... that could be it. Jealousy is blind—it doesn't know ifs and buts. He could be jealous of the deep connection you two have. Simply because you are somewhat closer to another person. Think about it."

"Awesome," I muttered. "So what do I do now?"

"You need to talk to him. If there is someone who can break through his walls, it's you. Tell him about your feelings and make him do the same. That's the only way to make it work." She sounded quite passionate.

I sighed. "Easy for you to say."

"Nobody said it would be easy. But it's worth it. Go to him. Go to the man you love and talk to him."

After we had hung up, I sat on the couch for a while, mustering the courage to enter the lion's den. Finally I rose and strolled into the hall, cocking an ear to the study door. I heard his muffled voice; he was talking to someone on the phone. It was a good sign—he must have been over with his sulking. I waited until it became quiet and knocked twice.

He didn't reply.

I waited, my heart increasing its rate, then knocked again. Still no reaction. I drew in a breath and pushed the handle.

He was sitting at the desk, his shoulders slumped, his face in his hands. He didn't lift his eyes to acknowledge my presence; the knot of his tie was hanging low, revealing the undone top buttons of his shirt. Now that his walls weren't in place, he looked strangely fragile.

I came over to stand in front of him, resting my palms flat on the desk separating us. He flinched slightly.

"I'm sorry," I exhaled.

Slowly, he moved his hands away from his face and rested them on his lap. His eyes met mine cautiously, burning with something akin to remorse. "What are you sorry for, Isabella?" he asked in a hollow voice. "You did exactly what I told you to."

So I was Isabella again. I shifted from one foot to another, suddenly feeling so small. "I'm sorry for making you angry."

He closed his eyes with a muffled groan and pushed his chair back, increasing the distance between us. "I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have behaved like a caveman. I had a shitty day at work and I was on edge; I didn't mean to pour it on you, but when I saw someone's jacket on the rack, my heart sank... and then I saw you and him in my—_our_ living room, and I just—" He trailed off, rubbing his eyes.

"You just... what?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know." He wouldn't open his eyes. "My blood boiled and then something burst inside me and I fucking lost it. It was something I couldn't control. I've never felt anything like that before. I'm sorry."

I walked around the desk, leaning against it. Closer but not touching him. "I didn't mean it when I said you didn't care. But you did hurt me."

His eyes finally snapped open, green like the ocean after the storm. "I'm awfully sorry. I have absolutely no excuse. I'm sorry I snapped at you and I'm sorry because it should have been me."

I furrowed my brow at him, confused.

He moved forward slightly. "I should have gone with you and helped you choose the goddamn curtains... this color is awful, by the way." A small but arrogant smile tugged at his lips.

"You think every color is awful as long as it's not black or white," I sneered.

In one swift movement, he was up and his hands found my waist, making me sit on the edge of the desk, his eyes locking with mine. "I beg you to understand. I've been living in a shell for so long. It's not easy for me to let it go even if I really want to. In fact, I didn't realize it would be this hard. Please grant me some patience. Please."

I felt a pang of guilt stabbing my chest. How could I be so selfish? In a struggle for my own comfort, I had completely dismissed the fact that he might want different things."You don't have to give anything up because of me. I don't want you to."

He shook his head. "I called Esme and she told me one thing... she said a relationship is not a sacrifice. It's a compromise. I'm still wrapping my head around her words."

"Compromise, huh? Do you even know the meaning of it?"

He chuckled lightly. "I might not be as smart as you, Ms. Swan, but my vocabulary is quite extensive."

"And what does it mean to you?" I asked in a small voice.

"It means we should make decisions together. Negotiate. We're good at it, aren't we?" His eyes never left mine as his hands rested on my knees, my pulse quickening instantly.

"Negotiate what?" As much as I wanted to be over with it, we needed to talk.

"What exactly you want to change about the interior. Actually, Esme has offered her help. How about we meet at our office and discuss it?"

I nodded. "Sounds good. She knows your taste better than I do, obviously, so we could carry it out without distracting you from work."

He sighed, a deep crease forming on his forehead. "God, Bella, you have no idea how much I want to take a break. I love my job, but I wish I could slow down a bit and spend more time with you. I wish I could."

I reached out and caressed his face. "It's okay. You're here now." His tension was still palpable, reminding me of another issue we'd had. "Please don't be jealous. Please." I leaned closer to him. "I've only lost my virginity with him," I whispered. "With you, I'm losing my mind."

His eyes widened and in another moment, his lips were molding into mine, hungry and desperate; I could taste his fear and his longing. His frantic hands twisted in my hair, releasing it from the clip, then ghosted down my shoulders, my arms, cupping my breasts. When my hips moved of their own volition toward his, a growl deep in his chest made my insides melt and waver. He pulled back abruptly, taking short breaths. "You. On my desk. No one has ever—" His hooded gaze flickered from my face to the Mac display on my right and back and he smirked. "You'll have to be very still."

Later, when I was trying to fall asleep with weary Edward wrapped tightly around me, his words came haunting back to me. He could actually slow down. He could enjoy his work instead of being exhausted by it. There was a decision to be made—the first decision that we would have to make together.

I reached for the nightstand, my movement making him whimper in his sleep and cling to me even closer, pulled the top drawer open, and felt for the key.

* * *

**THANK YOU to everyone for taking your time to review, rec, or tweet about this story. You guys are amazing. **** I wish I could thank everyone personally. **No matter if you express your love or rant, your words always make me smile :)

**Katie1824, you are my hero. Always remember that.**

**And just a quick reminder that there are 20 chapters and an epi. We're almost there.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Bella, I'm so glad to see you again." Esme hugged me warmly as I crossed the threshold of the Cullen Architecture office.

"I'm so glad to see you, too." I hugged her back, my tension slackening instantly—I had been really nervous about the reception I would receive as Edward's girlfriend.

She stepped back and smiled kindly, her hand never leaving my shoulder. "I'm sorry your attempt at decorating wasn't quite successful."

I gave a laugh. "Yeah. I hope my mom will like her new curtains."

"It's okay, darling. We all have been there at some point." She winked. "Men are always defensive of their territory. But I'm on your side; that makes us the majority."

"Thank you," I said. "I just don't want to push him or anything."

"Who's talking about pushing? The trick is to make him believe it was his own idea. Come on." She motioned for me to follow her. We reached the glass door at the end of the hall when her cell started ringing and she paused. "Sorry, I have to take this."

I nodded, coming closer to the door to take a peek. What I saw threw me, making my heart skip a beat. He was sitting behind a long glass desk at the faraway end of the office and there was a woman standing by his side, leaning so close they were almost touching. Their eyes were on the desk and they were clearly discussing something work-related... but damn it if the lack of proper distance between them didn't imply there was more to that. She was sexy, too: blond curls, long legs, cleavage to die for... I swallowed and turned to meet Esme's perplexed look. I didn't even notice she had hung up.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked.

"Um... Edward seems to be busy." My voice was high-pitched as though it belonged to a little girl.

"So what?" She shrugged and walked past me to open the door. "Guys, your time's over. Bella's here."

I blinked, almost tripping as I followed close behind her. Edward's eyes lit up as they met mine and his brow furrowed slightly. "Hi, baby," he crooned.

"We're not quite finished here," the blonde objected, giving him an austere look.

He stood up, pushing his chair back, ignoring her completely. "Bella, meet Rosalie, our attorney and by coincidence Emmett's better half."

I nodded, feeling like an idiot. Of course, she was Emmett's wife—Edward had mentioned she was giving him legal advice. I mentally chastised myself for letting myself doubt him, even for a brief moment.

"Asshole," she hissed, narrowing her eyes to assess me.

He grinned. "Rose, meet my girlfriend Bella."

She reached out for a handshake, waiting for me to approach, and held my hand so tight like men do. "Girlfriend, huh? The one and only?" She smirked, but there was no hostility in her voice or in her eyes. Rosalie McCarty was quite tough—I'd heard that much—and I admired her instantly.

"The very same." I smiled sincerely.

"If you're done with pleasantries, let's go to my office, shall we?" Esme interrupted us. "We've got work to do and I would really love to be home for dinner."

"You are not signing this shit until we're through with it." Rose glared at Edward, grabbing the papers.

"Monday, I promise." He waved her off playfully and rested his hand on my waist.

We spent two hours in Esme's office, discussing the interior designs ideas she had suggested. To say Edward was difficult was to say nothing. He was struggling so hard it was almost comical, failing to realize Esme was playing a simple trick—she showed us something awful that had pink details first, then something light blue only suitable for a kids' bedroom. By the time she came up with a truly gorgeous design based on the combination of dark purple curtains and light purple wallpaper with various decor elements, he was ready for a compromise. Once he had agreed, it was settled that Esme and I would finalize the design project on Saturday while he was busy with work.

"Are you happy?" he asked, entering the bathroom when I was brushing my hair before going to bed that night.

I lifted my eyes, meeting his in the mirror, and sat the hairbrush on top of the vanity. "I am. I really am."

He sighed, placing a teasing open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder. "When you entered my office, you were so pale. What was it?"

I frowned. He stopped in his tracks, watching me. There was no way I could get away with it—I promised to be honest with him.

"Rosalie is very beautiful," I said.

"She is," he agreed. "She's also the biggest pain in the ass imaginable. Wait—" He turned me around gently and cupped my chin. "Baby, are you jealous?"

I squirmed and lowered my eyes, feeling stupid. "I'm not now that I know it's _her_."

He chuckled. "Woman, your logic isn't making any sense."

"Perhaps there isn't any logic. Or sense."

"Bella." There was a warning to his voice. "Look at me."

I shook my head slightly, refusing to meet his gaze. "I trust you. But seeing you with someone... ugh... it was so silly of me."

He chuckled lightly again, caressing my hair. "Silly, silly Tigger. Don't you realize you've made me completely immune to other women's charms? I look at them and all I see is how their beauty pales in comparison with yours."

My heart started racing in my chest. He slightly bent his knees until our eyes were on the same level. "Your skin is so delicate." His thumb brushed my cheek, emphasizing his words. "Your lips so soft, so sweet." He kissed me lightly, smiling and taking a deep sigh as he did. I wanted to melt into him, to share his every breath. "Your eyes are so deep and when you're excited, they shine so bright... like now," his voice fell to a whisper. I was powerless, transfixed.

"You have no idea how exquisite you are." His hands slid from my face down my neck, ghosting over my collarbones.

"My breasts are too small," I exhaled.

"They're perfect." His thumbs applied some pressure over the lace of my nightie, making me so sensitive I wanted to jump out of my skin. I whimpered, gripping onto the edge of the vanity behind me.

"You have no idea how good it feels to touch you." His suddenly rough voice, his hooded eyes, his desire emanating from him in waves of burning heat—it all spoke volumes. The air between us became thick and heavy with lust.

"You have no idea how good it feels to be inside you." His whisper caressed my neck as his hands traveled down my sides, my own need for him becoming desperate, almost convulsing my whole body. "I can't ever get enough; with every day I want you more and more. Only you. I've never wanted anyone... _anything _so badly."

I sucked in a breath when he gripped my hips and pinned me against the counter, showing me exactly how badly he wanted me, promising so much and much more.

"Edward... fuck," I gasped, my fingers pulling hard at his hair as his mouth silenced me. It wasn't a slow and sensual kiss; it was greedy and intense, our tongues exploring the ways to satisfy the hunger for each other that we both knew wouldn't go away.

I was dizzy and breathless when he groaned, drawing back. My eyes opened, locking with his for a mere second before he turned me around and swiftly pulled my nightie over my head. Our eyes locked again in the mirror and my palms met the vanity surface in front of me with a slap, needing support.

The walls seemed to reverberate with our moans as we moved together, pleasure multiplied by watching our reflection until it became too intense. I closed my eyes, feeling him, letting him have complete control over my body, trusting him to take me to the most sinful kind of heaven.

"Have I told you how happy I am that you agreed to move in with me?" he asked, snuggling next to me in our bed when we finally managed to make it there.

I shifted, resting my cheek on his naked chest, inhaling his smell that had always been stronger after sex. "Say it again."

He chuckled, nuzzling into my hair. "I'm happy that you're here. And I'm happy that you're mine."

. . .

My mom arrived in New York on Sunday afternoon. I was supposed to meet her at the airport and I was terribly late, having failed to consider it would take longer to get there from the Upper East Side. When I finally stormed into the Arrivals area, she was tired and irritated.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I embraced her.

"Bella, it wouldn't hurt to leave home early for once, would it?" She was nervous; I could empathize with that—moving to another continent wasn't an easy step to take. And the fact that she would have to stay in an empty apartment wasn't helping, even if it would be better for her in the long run.

"Sorry," I muttered again, taking the handle of her large suitcase.

We remained silent in the taxi and my own anxiety was growing with each minute. What if she wouldn't like Edward?

"Home, sweet home," Mom said when I unlocked the apartment door. There was something in her voice, a strange mixture of sadness and sarcasm that ripped my heart apart. She proceeded to the living room and settled in the corner of a couch, taking in the surroundings. "Nice curtains."

I managed a smile, sitting on the couch beside her. "I'm glad you like them."

She gave a slight nod and blinked, a solitary tear running down her cheek.

"Mom." I threw my arms around her, feeling her rigid posture soften. "It will be okay."

"I know, honey." She heaved a sigh, hugging me tightly. "I know."

We didn't cry; we just held each other, but for some reason it felt like the bond between us had never been so strong. And just like that, I knew she would make it. She was home.

Finally, Mom cleared her throat. "So, when do I get to meet your boy?"

I pulled away, taken aback by the change in her demeanor, and eyed her suspiciously. She didn't look a bit tired anymore; she was now brimming with excitement.

"Um... actually, we have booked a table tonight. He really wants to meet you, too." To tell the truth, Edward had been quite nervous about meeting her—pulling at his hair kind of nervous.

"That's good. I can't wait."

"You don't have to if you're tired," I began, but she raised her hand.

"I'm not tired. Do I look tired?"

I shook my head, suppressing a smile. That was my mom—a woman to the bone.

"How much time do we have?"

I glanced at my phone. "About an hour."

"Great. I'm going to take a shower and prettify myself. Don't want your boy thinking your mother is a hobo." She practically jumped from the couch and I helped her drag her suitcases into her bedroom.

While Mom was in the shower, I sent a quick text to Edward: _She's fine and looking forward to meeting you. Be nice ;) _

_God help me_, was his reply.

We had a table booked at Cipriani. When our cab made it there, Edward was waiting outside despite the dank November weather, his hands in his coat pockets. I smiled at the disarray the wind caused to his usually sleek hair and couldn't help but think how handsome he looked. It was still hard to believe this man was mine. I felt pleasant warmth in my chest at the thought.

His troubled look was gone the second he saw me. "Hi," he breathed, shifting his gaze from me to Mom. "Mrs. Rinaldi, I would like to introduce myself," he said with a nod before I could even open my mouth. "My name is Edward Masen. I'm Isabella's boyfriend."

I rolled my eyes. Seriously, we weren't living in the 19th century. Mom, however, would seem to appreciate such gesture. Her face lit, and when she reached out for a handshake and Edward kissed the back of her hand instead, I thought she'd faint.

I had to give it to Edward—he was at his best tonight. He took our coats and pulled a chair for Mom and then for me. He was dressed impeccable, too—my favorite gray suit, white button-down, charcoal gray tie. Way to impress a woman. Or two.

"Nice place," Mom said, looking around after we had placed our orders.

"It is." Edward nodded. "We thought you'd like something Italian."

A smile crept up my face. I loved that we were _we_.

Mom raised her brow. "I left Rome this morning. Honestly, it hasn't been that long to start missing it already."

He looked at me in confusion, his eyes searching mine for help. Thankfully, she burst out laughing. "I'm just kidding. It's really lovely here."

Never in my life had I been so happy to see a waiter with a bottle of Chianti.

"So, Edward," Mom said, having downed a good half of her glass. "Tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

He smiled, but it was tight and didn't reach his wary eyes. "I'm an architect and a partner with a small architectural firm."

"Oh." Her eyes widened; she was looking thoughtful for a few moments, as if putting things together. "How did you two meet?"

"At work," I said quickly. "We had a project together—well, before we decided, you know, to date."

"And when was that?" Mom was taking no prisoners.

"March."

"February 15."

My jaw dropped and I stared at Edward who winked at me, looking smug. "How could you forget?" He pouted in mock disapproval and continued, "Bella entered the room, our eyes met, and I knew my life would never be the same."

"It wasn't like that," I muttered.

His hand found mine on the table, entwining our fingers. "I might be exaggerating a bit. A tiny little bit. But the very essence is true. You have changed my life." His voice was so low—_that_ voice—and I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from his. At that moment, we weren't in a restaurant but in our own happy bubble. Just the man I loved and I.

When I finally came back to earth and looked at Mom, my heart clenched. She had placed her elbows on the table, fiddling about with her wedding band on her finger. She was smiling, but her eyes glistened with tears.

"Mom." I leaned in to her and gently rubbed the back of her hand. "Are you okay?"

Her lower lip trembled and she brushed away a tear. "I am, darling. I'm just getting so emotional when I'm looking at you."

"Mrs. Rinaldi, so what are you planning to do now that you're here in New York?" Edward asked, effectively distracting her attention.

"Oh, nothing much. My husband's money is enough to last me a lifetime, but I need something to do to occupy my time. So I'm just going to see if I can find someone who wants to study Italian. Perhaps I'll start with putting an ad in some paper and on the internet." She swept the loose strand of her hair away from her face.

"You can go on with your therapy," I said quietly. "Jasper, Alice's husband, is actually one of the best in that field. He suggested you call him."

"Thank you, honey. I'll definitely call him. But to tell the truth, right now I feel more alive than I've had since..." She paused, blinking back the tears. "I sound like an old woman who reads too many Harlequin novels, but your love shines so bright it fills everyone around you with so much hope."

I felt Edward's hand wrapping tighter around mine. When I looked into his eyes, I saw determination and a silent promise.

Mom left before dessert, finally admitting how tired she was. I walked with her to a taxi. "You sure you don't want me to stay with you tonight?"

"No, darling, I'll be fine." She smiled reassuringly. "Go home with your boy—he needs you more than I do." She winked, making me blush. "It's so sweet how he can't take his eyes and his hands off you. If someone would look at me that way..." She rolled her eyes theatrically, pressing her hand to her chest. "I'd feel so hot and bothered."

"Come on, Mom." I snorted. That was my Mom at her best and it was truly relieving to see her being herself at once.

"Your mother is fantastic," Edward said as I returned to our table. "Now I know where your strength comes from. It runs in the family. And she's very beautiful, too."

"She's great," I agreed, eyeing his chocolate cake with longing. "Can I have some?"

"Sure." He scooped up a piece and brought the fork to my lips, but instead of the usual spark, there was a shadow of worry in his eyes. "Do you think she approves of me?"

"Oh yeah," I mumbled with my mouth full. "She's completely dazzled by you, Mr. Masen."

A smug grin appeared on his face. "It runs in the family as well, it would seem."

I frowned. "Speaking of the family... Would you come with me to my Dad's for Thanksgiving?"

He chuckled. "Why does it feel like a video game? Once you pass one level, you proceed to the next."

"And it gets more and more challenging," I added. "My sister can be worse than any game monster. You'll get extra points if you manage to dazzle her."

"That bad, huh? How about something in advance, then? In case I won't survive, you know." He leaned closer and traced my lower lip with his thumb. "You've got chocolate here. I want to have a taste," he whispered.

Mom was wrong. Hot and bothered wasn't even close to how I felt around him.

"We're in public," I breathed.

"I don't care. I want. Please."

My eyes flicked from his eyes to his inviting lips. He drew closer, tilting his head. Without asking further permission, he gently sucked my bottom lip between his and gave it a long sensuous lick, making me close my eyes and moan quietly into his mouth.

He didn't hide a triumphant smile, leaning against the back of his chair and digging his fork into the remaining piece of cake. "I'm not afraid of anything anymore."

* * *

**Thank you all! This is great to know so many people read and love this story. **

**And thanks to Katie1824 for holding my hand! **

**I'm on Twitter: LuckyStar815**

**Oh, and Happy Easter! XO**


	19. Chapter 19

"What do you think?" Edward frowned at his reflection in the large fitting room mirror.

"It looks good. Really good." I clicked my tongue in appreciation—he looked amazing in the dark blue jeans and blue and gray plaid shirt I had chosen for him. Well, he looked amazing with any clothes on and especially off, but there was something about casual wear. "Your ass looks incredible in these jeans," I murmured, coming closer and placing my hand into the back pocket of said jeans to emphasize my point.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure your dad will appreciate that. Tell me why can't I wear a suit? You can never go wrong with a good suit."

I chuckled, standing on tiptoe to rest my chin on his shoulder. "My dad's family... well, they're quite... unpretentious. I mean, it will be easier for them to take to you if you look more casual."

He sighed. "How about a compromise? I take the jeans and wear them with my gray sweater."

"What's wrong with this shirt?"

"It's just... not me at all. I can do casual. Just not this shirt. It's fucking ugly." He turned around, resting his hands on my shoulders. "Compromise, Tigger. If you feel like shopping, why don't we go buy something nice for you instead?" He winked. "New shoes?"

"Are you trying to buy me off?" I knitted my brows, trying to give him a stern look.

"I am, yes. Is it working?"

"Hmm..."

He sighed and leaned closer, his nose touching mine. "Don't be angry with me. I'm trying. One step at a time."

"Kay," I hummed, making him smile. How could I be angry with him? The man had just offered to take me shopping, and he was willing to change. For me. One piece of clothing at a time.

"What's your Mom doing today?" Edward asked as we drove Emmett's Jeep to New Jersey on Thanksgiving Day afternoon.

I shrugged. "Nothing much, I suppose. She lived in Italy for so long that Thanksgiving has kind of lost its meaning to her."

His eyes didn't leave the busy road but his jaw tensed visibly. "It sucks to be alone on this day when everyone is with their families."

"Is that how you usually spent it?" I asked quietly. "Alone?"

"Nope. We had a tradition, actually. Esme and Carlisle called their friends to celebrate together. Other couples, mostly. Everyone was saying how thankful they are to have each other. It kind of sucked too, but in a different way."

"I know what you mean." Holidays weren't the best time to be single when everyone around was basking in their love and you felt completely left out. Last Christmas with Alice and Jasper was anything but fun.

"But that's still better than being alone," he concluded.

"Wait." I eyed him with growing suspicion. "What are you getting at with this?"

"I just thought... perhaps it wasn't a good idea to leave your mom alone today." His voice was too even to sound natural.

I knew this. I fucking knew this when he gave himself a cut while shaving this morning and when he spent ages doing his hair and when he changed three jackets before I practically stuffed him into the most casual one, a black pea coat.

"You know what I think? I think you're a pussy."

He almost jumped in the driver's seat, shooting me a sideways glance. "What? I'm not a pussy!"

"You are! You fucking promised to go with me to my dad's Thanksgiving dinner and you're trying to wriggle your way out if it, aren't you?" I snapped.

"I'm not—"

"Look." I took a deep breath. "I'm anxious, too. I'm scared shitless that they won't like you. Especially Leah. But it's important for me that we do it anyway."

"Bella." His right hand found my left, kneading my fingers. "Promise me nothing will change if they don't like me." His voice and his hand trembled. "Please. Just say it."

"If they don't like you, it's their problem," I muttered, my heart clenching as I finally understood the depth of his worry. "I'm an adult and they will have to deal with the choices I make. I never cared about my family's opinions of my friends. I never did what they told me if it was against my will. Why would I start now?"

"Always a rebel." He chuckled, seemingly relaxing. "How could I forget."

"Yeah. And besides, it took so much effort to make you mine. I'm not giving you up so easily." I rubbed his stiff knuckles with my thumb. "I promise."

"Thank you," he breathed.

"We're almost there. Third house on the right."

He nodded, slowing down until we pulled into Dad's narrow driveway. We were silent for a moment after he had turned off the ignition.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."

He gave a small smile. With my hand in his, we climbed on the porch. I rang the doorbell, listening to the sound of approaching steps with bated breath. Finally, the door flew open.

"Bells." Dad grinned, opening his arms for a hug and stopping in his tracks when he saw I wasn't alone. His grin died down and he shifted, awkwardly bringing his hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Aunt Bella!" I heard Rebecca and Rachel's excited voices. They weren't as hesitant as Dad when they ignored the man standing to my left, wrapping their small arms around my hips. I let go of Edward's hand, bending over to bring them closer. "How are my lovely girls doing today?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Someone cleared their throat loudly and I lifted my eyes to find Leah drilling us with her gaze from behind Dad's shoulder. I stood up straight, licking my suddenly dry lips. "Um... guys, meet Edward."

Dad had recovered from the surprise and reached out his hand. "Charles Swan. Pleasure to _finally_ meet you, Edward." Sarcasm was evident in his tone, making me tense impossibly more.

"Edward Masen. Nice to meet you too, Sir."

I mentally thanked his parents—strict upbringing definitely had its pros.

"Are you a prince?" Rebecca pulled away from me and tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at Edward.

He furrowed his brow, looking so utterly lost and confused that it was kind of adorable. I snorted, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Of course, he is."

"Told you so," Rachel said with such smug expression that everybody started laughing.

"Come on in. You'll freeze your asses there." Dad motioned for us to get inside, finally pulling me into a tight hug. "Is that him?" he whispered secretly into my ear.

"Uh-huh. He's important."

"I can see that." He let me go, rolling his eyes a bit. "How's Renee?"

"Better. Getting used to the American life all over again."

"You will tell me if she needs some help, right?" he asked quietly.

"You know she won't accept any." I smiled and he shook his head.

Leah hugged me next, simply nodding at Edward. Her silence was worrying me—my stepsister had never been tongue-tied. I could only hope that whatever she was holding back would remain unsaid until we were alone with her.

"Edward—Leah, Leah—Edward," I said. He gave her a reciprocal nod and a charming smile which she didn't bother to return.

"And these are my dear nieces, Rachel and Rebecca."

"Hi," the girls said in unison.

"Hi, Rachel. Hi, Rebecca," he crooned. Tense as he was, he still managed to play the role of Prince Charming very well—my man was trying his best.

Sue came out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a dish towel. "Bella, honey!"

I kissed her cheeks, inhaling cinnamon and something sweet-scented and spicy—Sue had always made killer pumpkin pies. "Sue, meet my boyfriend Edward."

She smiled kindly, taking his outstretched hand in both hers. "I'm Sue, Bella's stepmother. Not the evil one, I hope."

"Certainly not." I laughed, relaxing a bit. I began taking off my coat and as he caught it quickly, looking around for a rack, my fingers found his again. "Come meet the others."

Sam and Seth were already waiting in the dining room. With them, it was finally as _normal_ as greeting could get—polite introduction and shaking hands. Sue quickly rearranged the seating, adding another plate, and we gathered at the table.

As usual, Dad was the first saying grace. He gave a long speech, thanking God for his loving family, his work, his country, and the Democrats. He had always been into politics, enjoying debates on TV even more than sports. Nevertheless, he didn't forget to mention Yankees even if they had disappointed him last season by losing to the Tigers. The other members of our family, myself included, were way more succinct, keeping it along the traditional lines about everything and nothing in particular.

Edward was the last to say his thanks; he looked down, avoiding everyone's gazes. "I'm not really religious... but I thank God, or Providence if you will, for letting me know Bella. She's the ray of sunshine in my life."

He finally turned to face me, his eyes locking with mine. My heart was thumping in my chest from his words and the things that were unspoken but loud and clear in his stare.

"And thank you all for having me here today," he concluded.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Sue said warmly.

It became quiet then, as if nobody knew what to say anymore. Even the girls seemed to hold their breaths.

"Can we finally carve the turkey?" Seth asked. "I'm starving here."

Manners be damned, I loved my little brother. For a while, awkwardness was replaced with humming and appreciation nods. However, my relief was short-lived.

"So tell us, Edward, how long have you _known_ Bella?" Dad asked with his mouth full.

"Since February, Sir," Edward replied, keeping perfect composure as he continued cutting the turkey on his plate into small pieces.

"And why haven't we had the pleasure of seeing you before?"

I felt like the walls started closing in. My hand fisted the napkin by my plate. "Dad, I told you he was busy."

Edward elegantly put his knife down and his hand covered mine. "Yeah, I was busy. Busy being an ass of epic proportions."

Leah choked on her drink; Sue pressed her hand to her mouth. And Dad... Dad's eyes widened and then he roared with laughter. I stared at him, stupefied, wishing the ground had swallowed me whole.

"I positively like this boy," Dad finally managed, clapping Edward's shoulder. "Coming clean, huh?"

I took a deep breath. Everyone seemed to do the same.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to realize the depth of my feelings for your daughter, Sir." Edward's voice didn't falter a bit, as if he was at one of his meetings rather than at my family dinner. "But I will do my best to take good care of her. I promise."

"Hear, hear." Dad nodded. "Bella said you're an architect."

"That's correct, Sir."

"I suppose you're doing well enough to keep that promise, then."

"I'm doing quite all right."

Dad filled his plate with more turkey, shooting me a glance. "That will be the first," he muttered under his breath and began to chew. "What about your parents?"

Edward's hand was hot and heavy on mine. "My father was a lawyer. He passed away five years ago. My mother is a housewife. She lives in Chicago."

Dad stopped chewing. "I'm so sorry about your father," he said with an apologetic look. "So you're from Chicago, huh?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Nice city," Dad mumbled, focusing his attention on his plate again.

Edward nodded, giving me a small smile, and resumed eating. I reached for my glass and looked in front of me, meeting Leah's gaze, pregnant with meaning. Yet, she didn't utter a word.

When everyone was finally full, Sue and Leah began gathering empty plates.

"Is that okay with you if I leave you here for some time? I want to help," I whispered, leaning into Edward's ear.

"Sure. I can socialize just fine. Don't worry." He kissed my cheek.

I grabbed a few plates and took them into the kitchen where Leah had already started loading the dishwasher. Sue had disappeared, so I turned on the faucet to rinse the plates before handing them to Leah. She still wouldn't open her mouth, her silence sending me over the edge. Finishing with the last plate, I leaned against the sink, facing her. "Okay, spill it."

She raised her brow. "Spill what, exactly?"

"Oh come on."

Leah shrugged. "I don't follow you, Bells."

"Say you don't like him. Say it to me. Now," I hissed.

"What if I do?"

"What?" I narrowed my eyes, staring at her in disbelief.

She snorted. "I might be snarky at times, but I'm not stupid. He's a smart ass, sure, but he seems sincere about you. He didn't waver from Charlie's inquisition, too, which is saying a fucking lot. So yeah, I do like him. By the way, you never told me about his family. Have you met his mother?"

"They don't really communicate," I said reluctantly.

"Lucky you. You know what Sam's mother said to me the other day? She said I look lovely now that I've gained some weight. Fucking bitch. I've only gained two pounds for Christ's sake. Bitch."

"Leah, language." Sue entered the kitchen. "Come with me, girls; I'll show you something. Just be quiet."

We shared a puzzled look and followed her up the stairs to the door of my old bedroom.

"Shhh." She pressed her finger to her lips and slightly opened the door. Curiously, I craned my neck to take a peek, my lips instantly curling into a grin.

Edward was lying on his stomach on the carpet, leaning on his elbows. On his either side were Rebecca and Rachel, and there was a sheet of paper and a huge box of crayons in front of them.

"It's a cat," Rachel squealed.

"Yep." He smiled, shaking a crayon in his fingers. I'd never seen him looking so relaxed. "Now, your turn."

Rachel reached for a blue crayon and paused. "I want to color it blue."

"Blue cat?" He chuckled. "That's interesting."

Rebecca suddenly lifted her eyes, noticing me. "Aunt Bella! Edward is teaching us to draw!"

His eyes shot up to mine and he bit on his lip, hiding his smile. "Join us?"

Hesitantly, I entered the room and mirrored their position on the floor. "I'm not really good at it."

"You can draw a flower," he suggested.

"Cats don't like flowers," Rachel protested. "Cats like fishes."

"Right." I took a red crayon and drew what looked like the ugliest goldfish possible. "Ugh."

"It's a beautiful goldfish." Edward encouraged me, grinning. "Exquisite."

"You're laughing at me."

"Not at all!"

We were interrupted by Dad who practically stormed into the room, carrying what could be only one thing—my childhood photo album. I groaned.

"Edward, have you seen Bella's childhood photos?" he asked, winking at me.

"Dad, please!"

"Come on, kids." He ignored me, waving for us to follow him.

"That bad, huh?" Edward whispered, helping me up.

I only rolled my eyes. We went downstairs to the living room where Dad settled in the middle of a sofa, inviting us both to take seats by his sides.

"So." He opened the hard album cover. "This is Bella straight out of the hospital. See how small she used to be?" he cooed, making me sigh deeply. _Parents. _"And here she's one and a half year old. She loved to run around the house naked."

"Dad!"

"It's okay." Edward chuckled. "And it's not like there's something I haven't seen. Just smaller."

"Edward!" I buried my face in my palms, dying from embarrassment.

"Watch that tongue of yours, kid," Dad admonished him, laughing. "We're all adults, but she's still my little girl."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"You can call me Charlie. Everyone does."

"Thank you, Charlie."

The pages continued turning. Dad didn't miss a thing, even the silly photos of me as a teenager.

"My God, you had blue hair!" Edward exclaimed.

"I dyed my hair all possible colors. Blue was for the Green Day concert. I was a huge fan," I confessed. "Dad shouted so loud I thought I'd go deaf even before the show."

He laughed. "I can't really blame him, you know."

Dad sniffled when we reached my high school graduation and prom pictures. "I can't believe it was so long ago. It feels like it was just yesterday and it's been more than ten years."

"Yeah." I tried to recall something remarkable that happened in between then and now. I went to college, moved to the city, met Alice, started working, had three boyfriends... And suddenly it clicked. "Dad, is that camera I gave you for your birthday still working?" I asked.

"I hope it does."

"Could you bring it here?"

"Sure." He stood up, thankfully taking the photo album with him as he left the room.

"What?" I asked, meeting Edward's puzzled look.

"I'm just curious." He moved closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

"We don't have a single photo of us together," I explained. "I want to capture each moment with you. When we're old, I want to sit like this and relieve it all..." I trailed off and looked him in the eye, suddenly afraid I had said something wrong.

But he just stared at me intently and leaned in to kiss my temple. "I want it, too."

I was so tired that night that I fell asleep when Edward was still in the bathroom, only to wake with a start at two in the morning in the empty bed. I turned on the lights, realizing how thirsty I was at the sight of a glass of water he'd left as usual on my bedside table. I sat up and downed it before placing my feet on the carpet to go search for him.

The study door was ajar, leaving a narrow strip of light on the floor in the hall. I paused for a moment, then opened it without knocking. I tried to be quiet but the door squeaked, alerting him to my presence. He lifted his eyes from the display and smiled, taking off his glasses. "Hey."

"Hey." I tiptoed to him, for some reason unwilling to break the silence that filled the room like fog.

He reached out and pulled me into his lap, his hand sneaking around my waist. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I forgot how to sleep alone, I guess," I whispered. "Working late?"

He slightly shook his head. Only then did I notice the familiar sadness in his eyes and turned, following his gaze.

There were black-and-white pictures popping up on the screen, one replacing another in a random sequence. A family gathered at a table. A teenage boy in a baseball gear. The same boy, only younger, at a piano. Wearing a navy academy uniform and short hair, a tall man with an austere expression by his side.

"Your Dad?" I asked quietly.

"Uh-huh." With a click of the mouse, he closed the slide show abruptly. When I turned to face him again, there was a deep crease on his forehead. "I..." He took a long deep breath. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

His hand slid to my stomach, resting flat under my pajamas top. "For the shit I had put you through when I thought you were pregnant."

"You were scared," I whispered.

"I was. It's just... I've never even considered a possibility of having kids before. I'm still scared now. But I—" He started drawing slow circles on my skin, his eyes anxiously searching mine. "Do you think...do you think I could be a good father?"

I caressed his cheek tenderly. "Of course you could. All it takes is to love your child. And the way you were playing with the girls today—it was so natural. You could make such a great father."

He leaned into my hand, still tense. "Thank you. I need to ask you something else."

I gave a slight nod.

"Do you want to have kids?"

My heart took a huge leap. "Not now, but someday... in a few years."

"With me, I mean."

I kept staring into his eyes, lost in the magnitude of the moment, my hand making slow descent to his chest until I felt his heart pulsing under my fingers. "Yes," I breathed.

"Good." Relief was palpable in his voice. "Because I really, really want to see your belly swelling with my child." He embraced me tightly, burying his face in my hair with a contented sigh. "Someday. I'm not ready to share you just yet."

"I love you," I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder. I'd never felt so peaceful, so complete.

"Esme and Carlisle are adopting a Chinese girl," he said all of a sudden.

"Oh! That's great news!" I felt so happy for our friends—they deserved to make their dream come true like no one else.

"They showed me the picture. She's really cute."

I couldn't help but smile. "Of course she is. She's_ theirs_."

He chuckled lightly. "I bet she will have them wrapped around her little finger in no time at all."

I laughed with him and then we were quiet for awhile. His frantic heartbeat was gradually returning to its normal rate, but just as I was about to suggest we go to bed, he shifted, drawing back, and looked intently into my eyes.

"Bella, have you ever been to Chicago?"

* * *

**Thanks to Katie1824 for making it better.**

**Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. I really appreciate that. Thank you.**


	20. Chapter 20

The ground was white with snow as our plane approached Chicago, making its way through the clouds of gray. It was an early December morning and it looked like the sun wouldn't rise at all. I shut the window and turned to Edward who was leaning back in his seat with an intense expression. His jaw was taut, his lips pressed together, and he was gripping onto both armrests. He hadn't said a word since we boarded the plane and I pretended to be asleep, unwilling to intrude upon him when he was so stressed out. Not everyone could be happy about going home. To tell the truth, he was freaking out big time.

"Hey." I covered his cold hand on the armrest with mine, trying to bring him out of his funk. "It's fine."

He glanced at me, his eyes gray and lifeless. "Yeah."

"We don't have to meet with your mom. You can just show me the places you love—"

"Don't," he exhaled sharply. "We—I should do this. I want to make everything right. For you. For us."

I gave him a reassuring smile, rubbing his cold knuckles. I wasn't afraid to meet his mother—I'd had some experience in the past, so I kept my expectations low, prepared for less than cordial reception. It was his distress that really bothered me; I desperately wanted to make him feel comfortable but I wasn't sure how or if that was even possible.

"Wow," I said as we entered our hotel room. It was spacious and elegantly furnished, the soaring Chicago skyline and the view of the lake in the distance opening before us through the floor-to-ceiling window.

"I need to shower and change." He unzipped his bag, removing the white shirt identical to the one he had been wearing since early morning, five hours in all. The bathroom door closed behind him with a bang, leaving me worried and confused.

I took a deep breath and rubbed my temples which started pulsing. We were supposed to have brunch with Edward's mother at twelve. I glanced at the clock—it was eleven and ten already.

"Fuck it," I muttered, pulling at the edge of my sweater and kicking off my boots and pants.

The shower stall opened with a click and I paused, admiring the beautiful sight of water running down his sculptured back.

"Bella, it's not the time to play," he said tensely, half-turning his head.

I closed the door behind me and stepped forward, sprays prickling my scalp—he'd always liked the water too hot when he showered. I took a moment to adjust to the temperature and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Baby." He sighed. "We don't have time."

I ran my hands down his stomach, smiling as he tensed impossibly more and trembled slightly at my touch. "Trust me." I planted a kiss on his shoulder blade. "I'll make this real quick."

Fifteen minutes later, I was hastily drying my hair, dressing, applying make-up, and helping Edward with his tie which refused to obey his hands today. I only took a breath when we were in the elevator. "Do I look okay?"

"You look beautiful." He reached out and fixed a lock of hair that came out from my bun. "Perfect."

I'd never been to Chicago, but I should have guessed that traffic there wouldn't be much better than the one in New York. Our cab was barely moving and Edward kept drumming his fingers on his knee, shooting glances at his watch.

We were late. Not terribly, merely fifteen minutes, but he was all over himself when we finally stepped into the lobby of one of the impressive skyscrapers. The swanky-looking doorman gave us a welcome nod and I suddenly felt underdressed in my simple black coat, dress pants, and black sweater. My boots were Italian, but I couldn't exactly put them on the table for everyone to admire and my replica of Chanel bag didn't seem such a good idea anymore. I felt quite uncomfortable and the way Edward pursed his lips, staring in front of him as the elevator was taking us to the 37th floor, wasn't helping matters any.

"I would love to see your room," I said, hoping to distract him from whatever dark thoughts occupied his head.

"They remodeled it a long time ago," he replied tensely. "It's a guest room now."

He paused by the apartment door, giving me an anxious look. I nodded and he pressed the button.

The door opened swiftly and a gray-haired woman opened her arms for him. "Edward, my boy!"

"Carmen." He smiled wide and hugged her. "This is my girlfriend, Bella. Baby, Carmen is our maid."

She grinned, giving me a tight embrace. "Such a lovely girl, are you? Now hurry up, she's waiting in the dining room."

His smile vanished and he reached for my hand, squeezing it before letting go and taking my coat.

My curiosity prevailed as we strolled down to the end of the dark hall. Edward opened the heavy oak door, revealing the room that reminded me of the Italian museums, oppressively decorated with antique lamps and vases, large paintings in golden frames, and thick dark burgundy curtains with oriental ornament. It was expensive and flashy; I instantly realized why Edward loved all things minimalistic.

In the center of the room stood a rectangular table with a number of dishes. At the faraway end of the table sat a woman I recognized at once even if I had only scarcely seen her a long time ago. Her face was calm, devoid of any emotion; her expression didn't alter as she raised her eyes, taking us in.

Edward cleared his throat. "Mother."

"You're late." Her voice was soft, barely audible, but for some reason it gave me chills.

"I apologize. I—" He paused, as if running out of breath. "Let me introduce you to my girlfriend Isabella Swan."

She glanced at me for a second, not displaying a bit of interest.

"Um." He shifted awkwardly, his eyes meeting mine. "Isabella, this is my mother Elizabeth Masen."

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Masen," I said, the whole room echoing with my voice.

She pressed her lips together, granting me another look. "Please have a seat."

Edward gave me a small smile not reaching his eyes and led me to the table, pulling out a chair before settling across from me. The silence in the room was strained; I could kill for a Mimosa but there weren't any, only a few plates with boiled eggs, ham, fruit, and some bread. Quite a modest meal for such a luxurious house.

Mrs. Masen reached for an apple and started slowly peeling it with a knife, seemingly absorbed in the process. It felt surreal. I could understand her ignoring me—but her own son, her flesh and blood, whom she hadn't seen for almost a year! Needless to say, my appetite was non-existent.

"Coffee?" Edward asked quietly.

I gave a slight nod and he reached for a silver coffee pot, poured some into my cup, then passed me a silver sugar bowl.

"Thank you," I mouthed, looking down for a spoon and noticing with horror that there were three. If this was a test, I had clearly failed it. My eyes hopelessly flickered to his and he shook his head, pouring himself some coffee and adding sugar before choosing the middle-sized spoon to stir it.

"Edward, what are you doing?" Mrs. Masen's eyes widened.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Mother?"

"This is a teaspoon. You don't use it for a coffee. Where are your manners?"

The sound of a spoon hitting the floor made me flinch and lose my breath; my hand pressed to my mouth. He jumped to his feet, his chair loudly scraping the parquet floor. "I just..." He rubbed his face, taking a deep breath, and his hand found the knot of his tie, pulling at it. "I can't stand this."

My heart sank—I'd never seen him so anguished.

"Edward, behave yourself." Only the way her gray eyes became stone cold gave out his mother's disturbed composure.

He opened his mouth, gasping for air, and his hands fisted at his sides as he shot me a glance. "We're leaving."

I stood up quickly and followed him to the door where he stopped abruptly and turned.

"Goodbye, Mother."

He was helping me with my coat, his hands unsteady, when Carmen caught up with us. "You aren't leaving already!"

"I'm sorry." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I can't stay here any longer."

"Oh, my poor boy." She shook her head, reaching out to ruffle up his hair. "She loves you. In her own way. She's always wanted the best for you."

"I don't give a..." He broke off.

She sighed and took my hand. "Bella, dear, take care of him for me. He's such a good boy."

"I know and I will," I breathed.

"Come on," Edward said impatiently.

"Oh, wait!" Carmen clasped her hands. "I almost forgot about your cookies!"

She rushed away to where I assumed the kitchen was and returned with a brown paper bag that evoked a smile on Edward's tight face. "Thank you," he whispered. "And I'm so sorry." They kissed goodbye and off we went.

"I'm sorry," he said again, undoing his tie once we were inside the elevator. "I didn't mean to subject you to this."

"It's not your fault."

"What an idiot," he muttered through his clenched teeth. "What was I hoping for?"

I just sighed—I didn't have an answer. It was difficult for me to wrap my head around his mother.

He hailed a taxi and gave our hotel name to the driver. He was silent in the car and I looked out the window, trying to distract myself with the views of snowy Chicago.

"Stop here," he said suddenly as the lake appeared to our right.

"But," the driver complained.

"I said stop," he hissed, taking a fifty out of his wallet.

I looked at him in confusion.

"I promised to show you the places I love," he said softly, "I'm going to keep that promise."

We stepped onto the wet asphalt and he rested his hand on the small of my back, leading me down the footpath that took us closer to the shore. He stopped facing the lake, closed his eyes, and took a long breath. His expression finally became relaxed, hard lines softening and creases disappearing. He stood like that for a moment before opening his eyes again. "You like it here?"

Honestly, I didn't know what was there to like—gray water, gray city in the gray mist, black leafless trees. "Umm... I just don't like winter, I suppose. It's kind of depressing."

He chuckled. "There is a perfect harmony about it."

I rolled my eyes. "Still depressing."

"It fits the mood when you're lonely."

I shivered.

"You're cold?"

"A little."

He brought me closer, snuggling up to me. "I will always keep you warm. Always." He sighed. "Sorry about my mother. But at least now you have the idea what kind of upbringing I used to have." He sounded bitter. "You know, when I stayed overnight with my friends, their parents treated me better than my own. I never understood that. Carmen was the only person who cared for me."

"They loved you," I repeated Carmen's words. "In their own way."

He pulled away, digging into his coat pocket to retrieve a brown paper bag. "A cookie?"

I grinned wide. "Yes, please."

"Let's go have coffee somewhere."

We found a Starbucks just a few blocks away, hot coffee more than welcome because I managed to freeze already, and then continued down the street. Edward was smiling enigmatically, refusing to tell me our next destination.

"Grant Park," he announced as we turned into the narrow alley. "It wasn't like that when I was a kid, obviously, but I really like it here."

"Too cold for walking in the park, don't you think?" I complained.

He chuckled. "Oh no. We won't be walking. Come on."

He took me to the ice rink. I hadn't skated since college so I fell the very second I stepped on the ice, but it was funny and we laughed and he taught me how to skate all over again and held me so tight that the next time we fell together. My pants were soaked and I was sweaty but it felt so damn good anyway.

Still laughing, we went to our hotel to change. We had tickets to the performance of _La Bohème _in the Lyric Opera tonight, so I put on a dress—a little black dress because Alice hadn't had a say this time. It wasn't about conquering anyone, it was just about being me. The look on Edward's face when I emerged from the bathroom told me that you could never, in fact, go wrong with a little black dress. And it wasn't even that little_._

"You look... stunning." His deep voice made my knees buckle as usual.

"Thank you. You're not too bad yourself." I took him in—he was wearing a black suit, a white dress shirt with black buttons, and a cocky grin—it was the Edward I knew and loved, but there was something new about him that I couldn't put my finger on.

We had dinner at the hotel restaurant, admiring the great view of the evening city skyline from the glassed terrace. Then we took a taxi and went to the opera. The performance was brilliant, of course; I enjoyed every moment of it. When it was finished and we stood outside the theater, waiting for a cab, I suddenly felt so thrilled by everything—the music, the lights of the city, the spirit of coming Christmas in the air, and most of all, the love, swelling my heart with enormous joy.

We started kissing in the back seat of the cab and continued in the empty hotel elevator, in the hall, by the door. Finally we were in our room, leaving a trail of clothes from the door to the bed. It had been like that for us lately—we were impatient like there would be no tomorrow.

When the backs of my knees touched the side of the bed, he broke away abruptly. "Let's slow down, Tigger," he panted, deep breaths shaking his whole frame. His lips curled into a smile as he noticed my perplexity.

"You're laughing at me?" I asked in a hoarse voice.

His smile grew wider and he rubbed his nose against mine. "I want to make love to you."

I might have swooned if he wasn't holding me so tight. His lips found mine again, tender and sweet; I sighed, opening for him, letting him in in more than just one way, letting him love me and loving him in return with all I had in me.

Afterward, we curled up in bed, eating the remaining cookies with milk we ordered from the room service.

"There is only one thing I love more than milk and cookies," he said with a sly grin.

"And what would that be?"

"Milk, cookies, and Bella." He licked and sucked on my bottom lip, humming in appreciation.

"I've had a very good time today," I whispered against his insistent lips. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He smiled, kissing the tip of my nose. "What would you like to do tomorrow?"

I traced his chest with my index finger, pausing at the level of his heart, and took a deep breath. "I think tomorrow we should go see your dad."

. . .

It had been snowing overnight and in the morning the temperature had fallen to the lower 30s, but my hand was warm in Edward's as we walked down the deserted cemetery alley behind the old caretaker, snow crunching beneath our feet.

"Here you are." The man stopped, pointing at a headstone standing by itself in the distance.

"Thank you." Edward put a folded bill into the man's hand. "Don't wait."

"Shall I go back?" I asked hesitantly.

"No." His fingers wrapped tightly around mine. "Come with me."

The snow was deeper on the lawn, so I stepped into his footprints, following him close behind. In front of the grave he stopped, letting go of my hand. I glanced at the tombstone and shivered. The inscription was quite succinct:

_Edward A. Masen_

_1951 - 2006_

_Outstanding citizen, son, husband, and father._

_Sleep on now, and take your rest._

We stood in silence for a while.

"I don't know what to say," he mumbled.

"What would you say if you knew he could hear you?"

He put his hands into his pockets and shook his head.

I started freezing when he cleared his throat. "Hi, Dad... Screw this—I never called him _Dad_." He paused. "Father. I'm sorry for not coming to see you sooner. I was busy. I'm doing fine. Shit."

"It's okay," I whispered, resting my hand on his shoulder.

"I want you to meet someone. Her name is Bella. She's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don't know what I've done to deserve someone like her."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Anyway," he continued, wrapping his arms around himself. "I used to hate you. I hated you so much," he spat out brusquely. "But I can't live like that anymore. This burden is so damn heavy. I'm fucking done." He gasped for breath. "So I... I forgive you. For everything. Everything you have done to me and especially haven't." His chest started heaving as if he was suffocating. "Goodbye, Father."

I was afraid to look into his eyes, afraid of what I might find there, but I did. And what I saw had torn my heart into a thousand pieces.

He was crying.

. . .

I woke in the dark room, the lights of the city coming through the half-opened curtains. He was standing by the window, unmoving, as if hypnotized by the view. He was already dressed in a shirt and pants, and he looked so sad and lonely, the lost boy.

Quietly, I put my feet down on the floor and came up to the window. "Are you okay?"

"I am now." He smiled, pulling me gently to stand in front of him and locking his hands on my stomach. "Thank you for being here with me," he whispered into my hair.

"Where else would I be?" I covered his cold hands with mine, stroking lightly. "Thank you for bringing me here."

It was still early but the sky above the lake was turning blue, darkness receding. The city below, usually bustling, now seemed so peaceful and quiet as if we were the last two people left on Earth. And even though being alone wasn't too bad, it was so damn good to have someone to share a moment like this.

He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around me tighter. I felt his chest rising against my back, his heart fluttering loudly. His breathing was steady, then suddenly hitched as he leaned closer to my ear, then stilled completely. I held my own breath.

First, there was silence. And then, his lips brushed softly against my temple.

"I love you."

* * *

**End Note: So this is it. I hope you like it.**

***Sobs uncontrollably* I'm missing these two already!**

**Thanks to everyone who has been here with me. I love you guys. Truly, madly, deeply.**

**Thanks to wonderful Deebelle1 who has made this perfect story cover!**

**As usual, thanks to Katie1824 for putting up with my anal-retentive self. **

**Follow me on Twitter: LuckyStar815.**

**And don't forget, there is still a short epilogue that will be posted next week. **

**XO**


	21. Epilogue

"I can't. Oh my God, I can't."

"Come on!" Edward grunted. "You can do so much better than this."

I wiped perspiration from my forehead with my glove, gasping for breath. Joining Edward for a morning run in the park was the first thing on the list of my early New Year's resolutions. I had recklessly stuck the list to the fridge and now he just wouldn't let up on me. It was December 30 and I hadn't missed a single jog since Christmas. Yes, Christmas. We went to Midnight Mass with Mom, and he woke me up at nine on Christmas morning. He was merciless.

"I'm freezing," I moaned.

"Then move your ass faster, Swan." He smirked, increasing his speed.

"I'll kill you."

"You'll have to catch me first. Come on, we're in the homestretch. And stop talking for fuck's sake—the air is cold and I don't want you to catch pneumonia."

I gritted my teeth and breathed through my nose, bracing myself for the final push. And just when I thought I would die from exhaustion, I'd finally caught my second wind, making Edward laugh as I outran him and headed to the park exit.

Later, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, drying my hair with a towel, all of a sudden I remembered the resolution I made a year ago and couldn't help but snicker.

"What's so funny?" Edward leaned closer to the mirror, inserting his contacts.

"You," I said, taking him in, naked torso and wet hair. My man was drop-dead gorgeous. "I love you."

He raised his brow. "I love you too. How come this is funny?"

"Because my 2011 resolution was to become independent. And as soon as I decided I would be better off alone, I met you."

"God has a good sense of humor, doesn't he?" He chuckled. "Hurry up. You have yet to finish packing and we don't have all day."

Having blow-dried my hair, I lingered by the mirror. There was something different about my reflection and I liked it. My features became softer and my eyes were always shining these days. I looked happy. And happy I was. I had never been so truly and deeply in love before, and, more importantly, I had never felt so loved. Maybe Edward wasn't a Prince Charming, but he was definitely worth the wait.

I shivered, realizing I would never have found him if I hadn't had guts to leave Jared.

. . .

The sun was beginning to set when our Jeep turned from the highway to the narrow road. It was hard to recognize it now when the ferns and the road were covered with snow.

He stopped the engine and rested his hands on the wheel, staring ahead of him.

"You're sure?" I asked softly.

"Yes," he breathed, opening his door.

It was cold outside and I put my hands in my pockets as we walked down the road in silence. Since our first visit to the house, we had only been there once—when Esme had finished with the interior decoration. I had no idea whether he had liked it or not; his expression gave nothing away. We made love in the master bedroom but neither of us could relax completely. And maybe he'd already been thinking about it because when I suggested selling the house as we cuddled up by the fire afterward, he had taken it surprisingly well.

Even more surprisingly, it was sold almost immediately after it had been put on the market. The buyer wanted it so much he didn't even try to negotiate the outrageous price Edward had set for it. Edward even joked that it had appeared to be his most profitable project by far and suggested we used the money left after paying off the loan to start a college fund for our children. He was anything if not a real planner.

It was my idea that he go say good-bye but he had been putting it off until the last moment.

Dusk was falling quickly, and when we reached the house, stopping at the edge of the forest, the lights were already on. From our angle we could see the whole living room. The fire was lit and there was still a Christmas tree. Three kids were playing tag; a woman with a tray entered the room and they came running up to her, laughing. I was watching other people's lives and suddenly I felt like an intruder.

"Do you want to come and say hi?" I asked Edward.

He shook his head quietly, looking calm and peaceful. It could be from the wind, but his eyes glistened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. It's just kind of weird to see your dream become someone else's reality." He paused, rubbing his eyes. "But I don't regret it. It's just a house—it has never been a home. I feel like something heavy has been taken off my chest. It's a good thing. Very liberating. I feel like flying."

He smiled and reached out for my hand, rubbing my frozen fingers, and I smiled back.

"We'd better go then if we don't want to miss our flight," I said. Later tonight a plane would take us to Rio where we would celebrate New Year's Eve. It was Edward's Christmas present—the man had a very good memory.

"I love you," he whispered against my lips.

"I know."

The bright orange disc of setting sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon as we were driving back to the city. Soon it would disappear and the night would descend and then another day would begin. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring us (except for the Tiffany box I had come across when I was looking for something in Edward's carry-on bag), but I was positive of one thing: you can't embrace the future until you let go of the past. If I had learned anything during this year, it was this. Our future might not be easy—real life rarely is; I was still afraid of what might happen if it didn't work out. But much more than that, I was afraid I would never find out what might happen if it did. I'd always wanted to know what exactly _happily ever after_ meant.

I would be forever thankful to my grandmother for making me believe in fairy tales.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**New Year's Eve in Rio is the ultimate happy ending for me. **

**Thank you, Fliki, for inspiring me. A lot. From that very moment I asked if there was a 9 1/2 fic and you said I would have to write one. I'm always up for a challenge! I was trying to write a story that you would love. And early happy birthday, girl!**

**Thank you, Carol, for giving me your advice and encouragement. **

**Thank you, Katie1824, for not letting me doubt myself and not giving up on these two even when... you know when ;)**

**Thank you, every reader who has left me a review. You made me feel loved. It's the best feeling ever. To those who commented on each chapter... I owe you for life. You are the kindest. I'm sorry if I didn't reply to each and single one (time management, eh), but I really wanted to and I wish you were my best friends.**

**And I'm done. Thank you EVERYONE for reading. **

******Find me on Twitter:** LuckyStar815 and on Facebook: Luckystar Fic. 

**XO**


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